It happens fast.
You look down at the radio, a glance at the station number. One hand on the wheel, one holding your morning Dr. Pepper. Suddenly, no warning, no sound, the car skids. The back end kicks around. All those things you learned in drivers education, in the one defensive driving course you had to take in high school, all the bullshit Hollywood movies and Discovery Channel specials on stunt driving; all that absorbed random knowledge on handling a car.
It vanishes like fall leaves whipping over the windshield at 70 mph.
The back end keeps coming around, you trying to steer out of it. Do I hit the brakes or gas? Steer in or out of the skid? What the hell? Then it's backwards, facing North when you were going South.
You look down at the radio, a glance at the station number. One hand on the wheel, one holding your morning Dr. Pepper. Suddenly, no warning, no sound, the car skids. The back end kicks around. All those things you learned in drivers education, in the one defensive driving course you had to take in high school, all the bullshit Hollywood movies and Discovery Channel specials on stunt driving; all that absorbed random knowledge on handling a car.
It vanishes like fall leaves whipping over the windshield at 70 mph.
The back end keeps coming around, you trying to steer out of it. Do I hit the brakes or gas? Steer in or out of the skid? What the hell? Then it's backwards, facing North when you were going South.
A thought occurs.
There should be a chip truck coming over that hill right now. Or a log truck. Something. Something should be slamming into me right now.
But it doesn't come. God and the angels that watch fools smile on you. The skid continues, the car seeming to accelerate, leaving the laws of physics in its wake. You've rotated 270 degrees from when this ride started and now the edge of the road appraoches. And the ditch. And you sail over it, feeling a strange lightness as the car leaves the ground.
Then.
The first hit. A tree, the car still in mid flight off the ground a few feet. Back corner, right side, straight into it. The sudden stop that kills those who fall from on high, a bone jarring boom that breaks the locks on your seat adjuster and sends you backwards on the rails. Then your own fall. Down into the valley of the ditch, the car ricocheting off the longleaf pine.
The second hit. The whole car settling as one in the ditch, the front end bending up, the sound of metal and fiberglass shearing and buckling. Your head lashes sideways into the door pillar. A sharp crack, not enough to knock you out, a guttural shout from you at the pain. .
You sit there for a long moment; the only sound the radio and your own breathing. You unclench a hand from the wheel and feel your head, checking for blood, bone, grey matter. Do a quick wiggle of all extremities to make sure they all function. Then you call the office, you call a friend at the police department, you call your wife.
They all come. They all ask why. They make sure you're okay, they all offer theories, they all hurl accusations. What can you say?
It happens fast.
There should be a chip truck coming over that hill right now. Or a log truck. Something. Something should be slamming into me right now.
But it doesn't come. God and the angels that watch fools smile on you. The skid continues, the car seeming to accelerate, leaving the laws of physics in its wake. You've rotated 270 degrees from when this ride started and now the edge of the road appraoches. And the ditch. And you sail over it, feeling a strange lightness as the car leaves the ground.
Then.
The first hit. A tree, the car still in mid flight off the ground a few feet. Back corner, right side, straight into it. The sudden stop that kills those who fall from on high, a bone jarring boom that breaks the locks on your seat adjuster and sends you backwards on the rails. Then your own fall. Down into the valley of the ditch, the car ricocheting off the longleaf pine.
The second hit. The whole car settling as one in the ditch, the front end bending up, the sound of metal and fiberglass shearing and buckling. Your head lashes sideways into the door pillar. A sharp crack, not enough to knock you out, a guttural shout from you at the pain. .
You sit there for a long moment; the only sound the radio and your own breathing. You unclench a hand from the wheel and feel your head, checking for blood, bone, grey matter. Do a quick wiggle of all extremities to make sure they all function. Then you call the office, you call a friend at the police department, you call your wife.
They all come. They all ask why. They make sure you're okay, they all offer theories, they all hurl accusations. What can you say?
It happens fast.
For those who's first thought after reading this is to my welfare and health, I thank you. Yes, the story is true, happened in 2002, on my birthday.
But to my main point...how'd you like the story?
But to my main point...how'd you like the story?
Later...
No comments:
Post a Comment