I spent that Thursday night in the emergency room after Prajna’s car accident. It was 1991. Prajna had been driving ahead of me when a drunk driver crossed the center line and collided with her car. She was transported to Maui Memorial Hospital with a broken femur and some bruises and lacerations.
The doctor came out of the treatment area and spoke to Prajna’s family and me. He said that there may be bone fragments in her blood and we might lose her.
I walked outside and smoked my first cigarette in months. I saw myself becoming the dark poet on the long black coat. I had stopped being the brooding loner in the months since I met Prajna. Now I felt I was at a crossroad. One side led to the scowling man of pain and loss not unlike my idol Mad Max. The other side was unclear. All I knew was that it was different than who I had been or ever wanted to be.
But I prayed for Prajna to be well. And she lived. And so do I.