So for the past few weeks I have been doing a huge rewrite on my life's story and the events that surrounded my life changing event of 2004. Please enjoy the preface and the first chapter to this book. It is still in rough draft form so excuse any spelling or literary errors but I would love to hear some feedback. Thanks - IMPORTANT © COPYRIGHT NOTICE All the works on my pages and galleries are protected by copyright laws. All rights are reserved to L. Jason Queen. No use of any kind without my permission.
Preface
The musty odor of Old Main permeated my senses as I entered the aging structure at the center of the Marshall University campus. I climbed the creaking staircase to the third floor having learnt not to trust the elevators of this elder building. The infamous third floor hidden away from the socialite world of Marshall University. This third floor of Marshall's oldest structure was reserved for ghosts, storage, artists and other forgotten things. Out of sight out of mind so they say. Years I had invested on this floor as I studied the career path of a professional artist. Numerous hours had been lost in study with my painting maestro, Stan Sporny. Here wisdom was gained and secrets of the paint were revealed from this master of oils. Stan Sporny, friend, philosopher, artist and professor seemed to rule this domain as if he were part of Old Main. The other professors referred to those of us in search of the master of arts in painting his sporny-o-phites. Stan the one man who preached a conservative stance in a very liberal campus stood out among the masses at Marshall University. He was as gravity pulling those with artistic souls to him. We would sit and listen to his stances and outlooks on life and art. Stan was very much a conservative street preacher. A missionary prophet singing conservative hope to the lost liberals of Marshall's campus.
My years of study had come to a close. The day had arrived for my final portfolio review. The review where all the paintings one had completed came under deep and certain scrutiny. I knew my style of painting did not sit well with most of the post modern abstract minded professors on campus. Sporny was one of the few to understand my illustrative style. Having experience as a graphic artist as well as a bachelor's of fine arts in graphic design, illustration was a natural evolution in my development as a professional artist. Illustration here in the hallowed halls of Marshall University however was viewed as a form of lesser art. Myself never being one to go with the grain, this prejudice rarely effected my pursuit of illustrative styled painting. I knew today I would most certainly face the firing squad of the liberal art professors. "Nervous?" Sporny asked as I set up my paintings for review. "yeah, a little." I replied. "you know what your facing today right? He asked. "yup most certain death by abstract liberalism." I laughed. Sporny grinned amused. "Just remember…I got your back." He said as he disappeared down the hallway toward his office. His back up would be most appreciated.
My firing squad filed in one by one. Each professor taking time in their critical review of my artwork. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an awkward eternity of silence. After each professor took notes on their thoughts of my work and the review began. The bashing began as expected. Critiques were expelled upon my artwork with a violent wave of cynicism. I stood there in silence letting these self proclaimed deities of art smash my life's work. I looked for the one who had my back. Sporny was a no show. I had been abandoned. I felt my patience give way to a bubbling cauldron of raw anger. I defended my work drawing on every artistic strategy and design principle I could remember from my many years of study. They attacked and I attempted to counter. We danced this rhythm until they seemed satisfied in their self proclaimed victory. My work in their eyes was clearly of lesser value. I accepted this narrow minded viewpoint, breathed in, breathed out and moved on.
After my beating from the faculty I had one mission in mind. To find and face the man who left me hanging. I encountered Stan meandering toward the critique area. "Over already?" He mused. "Dude you totally left me hanging back there!" I said clearly agitated. "They beat you down pretty good eh?" He said with a grin. "You could say that!" I proclaimed. "So did you defend your work?" He asked with a sly grin. "Of course I did! I won't go down without a fight!" I countered. "Good!" Stan said. "Good…Good…I thought you had my back?" I stated rather loudly. Stan got very serious as he looked me deep into my eyes puncturing my very soul. "You just learnt your most valuable lesson Jason. I know you can paint. You know you can paint. You just found your strength. The strength to stand on your own two feet." I think my mouth dropped open as I considered his words. His prophetic wisdom will forever haunt me. To this day I do not hear the voices of critique in my mind. But often when I sit in front of a canvas the words and wisdom of Stan Sporny echo from the great beyond onto my canvas. I never got to tell Stan just how important his wisdom would be in the months and years that followed that critique. I learned to stand on my own two feet in a very figurative and very physical way. His lesson would be a lesson I would need and draw upon in order to face the storm that was brewing on life's horizon.
Chapter 1
The memories seem almost distant now. The events that occurred that fateful day will however be etched into the unfolding painting of my life. Often I still find myself startled from my sleep. My mind jolting me from my dreams as it remembers the impact that forever changed me. The day of June 14th 2004.
It was a simple day. I woke up kissed my wife and children goodbye and went to work. My uneventful work day ceased and I began a journey to exhibit a few of my paintings in a local gallery. I recall nothing amazing about this day. In all honesty this day is lost to me now. Its memories removed by the trauma. The story that follows is pieces of my own memory and stories of those who were involved.
The impact transferred shockwaves of energy into my physical body like a massive explosion. My vehicle had been hit head on by a young girl driving a truck. Metal twisted and glass shattered as the airbags exploded into my face and chest. Dazed and confused my mind attempted grasp at reason. The impact however left my mind reeling and my lungs gasping for breath. I could now feel the pain descending upon me. Like the flames of my own personal hell an intense burning settled over most of my torn body. My mind went through an imaginary checklist of things working and things broken. My legs burned and an intense stabbing left me at a loss for words. The engine had shot backward from the collision and now mostly rested on my shattered legs. Bone protruded from the skin and blood poured from the gaping wounds. I tried to move but this only made the splintered pieces of bone grind deeper into severed flesh. My legs had been mangled and now hung connected to me by only a few strands of flesh and tendon. My lungs gasped for air only to find more intense stabbing pain. My right side screamed in agony. Breath seemed to escape me as I searched hard for its simple ecstasy. I had suffered two broken ribs. One puncturing and deflating my lung. The other shredding my liver. My insides were seared with agony. My mind screamed for any form of comfort. Comfort was denied me in these dark moments.
The metallic scent of blood now permeated every aspect of my shattered world. Its crimson streams burning my hazy vision. Its taste forever carved into my senses. Gasoline and oil fumes now mingled into the air. My body attempted to flee but remained trapped in its prison of mangled wreckage. I was helpless. There seemed no hope for my survival from this situation. The agony and the abyss pulled me deeper into their dark refuge. Death's icy breathe now felt to be the only release from this torture. I could feel its talons delving deeper into my being with each passing moment. Its chill now moving through my damaged limbs and into my very mind. It was here at this moment I looked inward. They often speak of your life flashing before your eyes. I didn't really care for what was revealed. I doubted my salvation into eternity. "God save me!" I whispered. I had uttered the three words that would forever alter my life. You see my prayer for salvation was not one of physical meaning. It was a prayers for spiritual preservation. I knew in about thirty seconds I was going to stand in front of either my judge or my savior and I was afraid and ashamed of my wasted time. As the words faded into the blood soaked atmosphere something amazing occurred. The hands that created the universe paused from orchestrating the cosmic balance to hold me. Me, a lowly sin filled broken being. I was enraptured by the most intense feeling of Love one could describe. My soul knew its Maker and rejoiced in His all enveloping presence. I embraced the complete absoluteness of peace.
The pain that was screaming through my torn body receded. A great distance was placed between the agony and myself. It was as if Christ himself was now once again accepting my pain upon his cross. He carried me like an infant in the arms of its mother through the dark valley of death. This was the deep magic. The essence that bound all things together now bound itself to me. Its energy and absolute spiritualness defied the very reason of earthly logic. Though I was dying I was at peace.
In the distance I could now hear a siren. Every drop of blood and passing moment brought it closer. You see the great being that now held me had placed a state trooper by the name of Bryan Pack just moments away. I felt myself giving into the eternal mystery when I heard his voice. "Stay with me son! Do not go to sleep! You sleep you die!" I felt the trooper's presence now in my car. The trooper had crawled into my wreckage to do what he could for me. I knew the danger he had placed himself in and was extremely thankful for this officer. Trooper Pack became an anchor to hold onto in my journey through this valley. It seemed as though my Maker's embrace now filled my vacant veins and gave me life where life should have been forgotten.
In my mind these events seemed surreal. "Is it my fault?" I asked the trooper. No son your'e on your side of the road just hang in there a bit longer." I don't know how long trooper Pack held me in that car but I am forever thankful to him for his life saving actions. I looked at the trooper through a blurry haze. I could hardly see due to the blood that poured into my eyes. "Am I going to die?" I asked not really understanding my own question. "Not on my highway, not today." The trooper stated with a certain amount of faith that helped encourage me to fight harder. "what's your name?" the trooper asked trying to lighten the situation. "Jason." I whispered. I faded in an out of the world as the valiant trooper worked to save me. The feeling of drowning in darkness was so strong. It would have been incredibly easy to pass into the darkness that seemed to suffocate me.
My next memories would unfold as if I were in a dream. Others had arrived on the scene. God placing each one in the exact location they needed to be. Lori a nurse in the line of traffic behind who having a trauma kit in toe worked diligently to do what she could. Others prayed. I know this as I felt the energies and sincerity of their prayers. They gave me hope. They intertwined themselves to me and my Maker's presence keeping the darkness and death at bay. My cousin and my brother appeared on the scene as well. My cousin Chad held my brother at bay as he looked on the wreckage. "Jeremy there is no way I'm letting you any closer!" Chad screamed. My brother had gone into shock at seeing the mangled wreckage of his brother's car. Fate had spared my brother this day. Minutes before I had asked Jeremy to accompany me on my trip to town. He was unavailable at the time to make the journey so he stayed back at our home. If he would have taken the fateful trip he would have died at the scene. My passenger seat had a huge piece of the engine rammed through it. Jeremy would have been in that seat. Chad knew this as he passed my brother off onto some neighbors for care. Chad then ran to my side. I remember looking over after hearing him and asking him in my almost dream state "What happened man?" Chad's face was pale as he saw my predicament. I knew things were bad by the way Chad held his demeanor. He prodded and encouraged me to fight harder. Chad never left me, even when the emergency crews tried to chase him off. He was always a stubborn kind of guy. I admire his heart and determination. Even as I continued to fight what little fight I still possessed, the touch of my God grew stronger. He never left me that day. His presence continued to hold me and cradle me.
Kevin Plantz a local fireman held the fire hose on my car. The decimated engine was sparking and he knew the fuel could ignite leaving me trapped in a blaze of pain and agony. I do not know the words to his prayer but God must have heard them loud and clear. A soft roll of thunder announced the storms presence. The clouds darkened and the very sky seemed to open up. The cool rain fell upon my face and seemed to give me refreshment. At this moment in my trial I welcomed any refreshment. The brief deluge cleared the spilt fuel from the road and saturated the engine. The sparking ended and hope seemed to hang in the air. However the storms sudden onslaught made the lifeflight chopper unable to land as it hovered over the fields. It was decided to move me to Holzer's and then life flight me to St. Mary's in Huntington West Virginia if at all possible.
The emergency responders had gathering by the truck load as I became center of attention. I could feel my life was fading fast. Time was of the utmost importance. Each second that passed brought my death that much closer. Trooper Pack held me while they worked desperately to extricate me from the mangled wreckage. With each jolt, each movement I could feel my shattered bones grind harder against themselves. The pain seared my conscience as I drifted in and out. "It's going to get very noisy so just hang with me." Pack told me as they broke out the jaws of life. Suddenly the fading world came to a explosion of sound as the machine that worked to get me out shattered glass and cut through metal. It was as if a thrash metal concert was taking place inside my skull. Then complete silence replaced the former chaos. I felt the hands of the emergency crews immediately get to work at saving my life. Life was traded for something else, survival. I simply endured the pain. I embraced it, focusing on the presence that still intertwined itself to me. The spirit still held me, lifted me and gave me life. Life where there should have been none.
