vituperation

Taking your morning walk two hours later than normal, at a little after six in the morning instead of around four, is a vastly different experience. First, everything is visible because there’s light; nothing scary at all in the daylight. Second, the thing that’s most different, there are lots and lots of people out for the same reason you are. And being the friendly, approachable sort I am, that meant I had to stop my Bag of Bones tape to speak to each one, which made it difficult to follow the story.

I was out so late this morning because that was when I woke up. Very out of character for me, but then again, staying awake until after two is also very out of character for me. Not that I can be blamed for being up so late, I guess, adrenaline tends to do that to a fellow.

We went to bed late last night, around ten-fifteen, give or take. That’s later than normal for us, but our new digital videocam (yay! kitty videos!) came yesterday and we were up playing with it. I hid in the spud’s closet while she showered, then scared the bejeebers out of her when she came into the room afterwards. And of course I got it on tape, which I suspect my wife will be sharing on her site at a later time.

Prepping for America’s Funniest Home Videos, you know.

I was lying in bed, not fully awake but not fully asleep, either. A sound brought me back to wakefulness, yanking me suddenly out of my reverie and into the land of the fully awake and heart pounding. It was a horrific sound, a rendingtearingsmashing sound, and though it was distant from me I knew immediately what it was, because only one thing sounds like that.

There had been a car wreck, down at the end of the street from the sound.

My bedroom is in the front of the house, and the first thing I did when I got out of bed was peer through the window. I saw nothing, and decided it must’ve been around the curve and out of my sight. I headed out of the room to get dressed, and found Robyn on the landing outside my bedroom door.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked. "It sounded like one of the cats turned over a bookcase."

"You heard that?"

"How could I not hear it? It scared the shit out of me!"

"I’m pretty sure it was a car wreck, down at the end of the circle. It sure sounded like one."

Robyn’s room is on the back of the house, and I was surprised she’d heard the sound from there. It wasn’t very loud from where I was, and I thought for sure the sound wouldn’t have carried so well. Then it dawned on me.

"Oh, fuck," I said, "If it was that loud to you it must’ve been out on Busy Street." Our backyard butts right up against Busy Street, and we’re regularly regaled with the lovely sounds of traffic: wailing sirens, thumping bass lines, and roaring motorcycles.

We hustled back into Robyn’s room, where she went to the window and I went to turn the bedside lamp off so we could see out better. She peered through the open slats of the blinds, trying to see if anything had happened.

"There’s a truck stopped on the side of the road," she said, "I wonder if he hit a dog or something."

I looked out the window and saw the truck of which she spoke. It sat idling on the side of Busy Street, pointed south, and appeared to be undamaged. I leaned in further, pulling the slats aside and pressing my face against the window so I could look up Busy Street toward Major Highway. What I saw caused an instant flood of adrenaline through my body that set my hands and legs shaking, and transformed me into a fight-or-flight machine.

"Oh my God," I said, and ran toward the closet. "CALL 9-1-1! CALL THEM NOW AND TELL THEM TO SEND AN AMBULANCE!"

"Why?" Robyn asked, because she hadn’t seen what I had.

"Tell them there’s a car in our back yard. Tell them it’s flipped over and they better send a fucking ambulance right now!"

"Where?" she asked, yanking the blinds up.

"Lean in," I said from the closet, where I was getting dressed. "Look down by the shed."

She did so, and saw the crazy pair of headlights that were perpendicular to the ground instead of parallel.

"OH MY GOD!" She ran across the room to get the phone. In the closet, I wasted precious seconds changing shirts because after I’d put on a t-shirt, I realized I’d grabbed the one that said It’s only funny until someone gets hurt. Then it’s hilarious. I ran into the bathroom for my contacts (my glasses totally suck, and fall off my face) as Robyn began talking to the emergency dispatcher.

My hands were shaking so badly I’m surprised I didn’t put an eye out. I left the bathroom running.

"Are we north or south of Major Highway?" Robyn asked.

"South!" I called over my shoulder on my way out the door.

Though it’s a little embarrassing to admit, I didn’t run once I got outside; I was simply too scared of what I might find. I’ve never experienced anything remotely like this, and despite what might’ve looked like outward calm, inside I was in turmoil. I took in one of the most surreal scenes I’ve ever witnessed as I walked across the yard.

Pieces of wood were scattered through the grass, like toothpicks from a box belonging to the Jolly Green Giant. As I got closer, I saw glittery bits of glass and reflective plastic dotting the landscape, glinting in the light from the headlights. There was an awful smell in the air, superheated anti-freeze or transmission fluid, and a lazy blue haze of smoke whirled and danced in the headlights.

There was a man laying facedown in the grass next to the car. He wasn’t moving.

I wasn’t sure if he’d been thrown from the car or if he’d crawled out before falling unconscious. One hand was curled under his head, and the other was pitched out at a jaunty angle. If he’d been standing, he would’ve been waving. I saw a second man walking toward me, coming through the hole in the fence.

"We called 911," I said.

"I saw it happen," he replied.

Behind us, Robyn came out of the house, still on the phone with 911 dispatch.

"How did it happen?" I asked.

"He passed me back up at the intersection of Pooch Lane, just blew by me in the turn lane. When he cut back in, he went onto the shoulder. He overcompensated, skidded across the road and hit the ditch. Then he started cartwheeling until he ended up here."

"Should the ambulance turn left or right on Pooch Lane?" Robyn called.

"Right," I said.

On the ground, the man moaned lowly and struggled to lift his head.

"DON’T MOVE!" the other guy and I shouted in unison.

"We’ve got help coming," I added.

I don’t know if he heard me or not, because his head flopped limply back to the ground before I was finished speaking, and he was out again. In the distance, sirens began to wail mournfully.

to be continued…