Read In Case of Emergency for Free Online

when I started losing weight he force-fed me fatty foods, ramen and pizza. Later I learned Jared and Elizabeth had been sleeping together for months.
    In the EMS world, you could call that particular kind of trauma a double penetrating injury, the mechanism being two knives in the back. The field remedy would be to seal the exit and entrance wounds with occlusive dressings and treat for shock.
    I push off for a few more laps.
    Soon after Jared and I broke up, I got the news that Mom died. Even after her skiing accident, and after the funeral, I would see the photograph she sent when I was twelve years old, as clear in my head as if it were in my hand, and I would think: she’s not dead . There she is, promoting river rafting in Colorado, her mousy brown hair streaked with golden highlights, her bleached teeth beaming.
    Step two: there’s your career, your home life, and your social life. Pick one. Or at least that’s what Mom used to say. I guess you could say she chose social life. Dad chose career. Ryan and I were the home life nobody picked.
    I get out and towel off, dripping into a puddle at my feet, no save-the-world stance. Which one have I picked? Life experience?
    That’s not on the list.
    As I make my way back, edges of pink in the sky behind me, I remember.
    Step four: after determining the clearest route, choosing main streets and as few turns as possible, give your driver all directions up front. But also give updates. Keep an eye on your location at all times, call out when the next turn is coming up, and estimate how many miles will be spent on each street. Be ready to map a new path in case of traffic, detours, accidents, or roadblocks.
    Step four: be vigilant with the task at hand.
    I take a shower but don’t go back to bed. I do the mapping exercises Ruth gave me until it’s time to go to work.
    7
    Ruth says I need to see South Central. She throws Carl and me in the rig and drives around 710’s district. “We’re first up for all calls,” she says. “And we’re not going back until you’re better at mapping.”
    She and Carl point out landmarks. The pale pink church at the corner of Van Ness and Arbor Vitae, where you sometimes respond to congregation members who’ve fainted. The crack house at 92 nd and Dalton, a dark green shoebox whose color contrasts sharply with the straw-colored weeds. It has a BEWARE OF DOG sign but no dog, the empty leash drooping from a wrought-iron fence. Carl tells me everyone wants to run a call on that place, to see what the inside looks like, but no one has.
    I learn about the dive bars, the convalescent homes, the elementary schools. Which restaurants get people sick. Which intersection has the highest homicide rate. Carl points out two small parks within a mile radius of each other, explaining that the men who ride their bicycles in circles, ringing the little metal bells on their handlebars, are actually drug dealers, the ringing sound an advertisement. We pass another landmark, the abandoned warehouse on the corner of 112 th Street and Normandie Avenue with its tilted rusty sign and mural of gang tags, the remainingshards of glass hanging in the frames like an ever-shrinking jigsaw puzzle. The deserted Buick on Central Avenue could almost serve as a landmark, too, covered in parking tickets like feathers, at least until they tow it away. I wonder if Ruth and Carl are as familiar with their own neighborhoods as they are with these streets. Their attitude toward South Central falls somewhere between resident and tourist.
    Looping through the neighborhood, Ruth explains which avenues and boulevards are the easiest to oppose traffic on, and Carl warns against a convenience store that’s had three robberies in the last month. I look at the piles of trash on the sidewalk, the crumpled shapes and decay-coated buildings, the way the early morning light casts quiet over everything. There’s something here I hadn’t expected, a deeply rooted sense of community in this