As I Was Driving Home Tonight

As I Was Driving Home Tonight

On the way home...
I was driving and along the way there were some policemen standing in the middle of the road in front of their flashing cars. There were five road flares burning like Christmas lights, blaring and bright in the night blackness. The policemen were grim as they directed traffic through a strip mall parking lot.

At first, I was mildly interested. Just another collision, nothing new for this road. I kept looking for the two cars with the fender benders, but there had been nothing in the road since the cops and their flares. In the strip, I spotted up a head some more flashing cars, a whole batch of them. I leaned forward into my steering wheel into the light of the gas station lamps to get a better look.

It was a big gathering of cop cars, from what I could see. I started to notice that people were gathered on the side of the road. The collisionists waiting for all the legal things to happen before they can be towed on their merry way. There was a young man, probably in his early twenties, talking on the phone. His chest was bravely puffed out and his face was strained---clearly, this man wanted to be strong in front of all the passing cars on detour. He was talking to someone whom I assumed would be his mother. Brave and strong.

As I moved forward at the antithetical breakneck speed of three miles per hour, I felt myself being pulled in to the drama. It was like a television show that panned across the scene. There were two men with big cameras, recording the moment. I assumed they were the Local Six getting their evening traffic report. Next to them was another young man, probably the brave one's best friend, and he was pacing back and forth, on his own cell phone jive. Being reminded of the brave one, I looked back to him. His puffed chest suddenly caved, his hand pressed against his face and his knees nearly buckled to the ground as he stood there alone, sobbing.

This was no everyday collision. Something obviously had gone wrong.

I felt my heart reach out to this young man. This guy whom I've never met before in my known life, whom I probably will never see again. I wanted to know what happened to him, what was to become of him, if he'd be alright. I found myself wanting to cry with him, to get out of the car and tell him to hang in there. Silly me. Would he really feel comforted by a stranger who stopped traffic just to give him a hug and cry with him?

While I was thinking this, my own car came very close to smacking the bumper of the Nissan in front of me. Luckily, I caught myself and saved the policemen more work for the night.

What I saw next left me in silent awe. Lining the four-lane road, on both sides, was a conglomeration of people, all mixed like a bag of assorted candy. I couldn't see their faces in the dark, but I knew that they had nothing to do with the victims. Was it because the young men didn't look their way, or because the bystanders not once took a step forward to their emotional aid? I don't know. However, I became so involved with this scene that I wished to know more, I needed to learn what had happened to the brave young man on the cell phone.

Several yards ahead, I spotted another part of the puzzle. Firemen were covering something with yellow reflective tarps that glowed in the headlights of the string of cars. It was a Jeep. I couldn't see what they were hiding, but I noticed the concavity of the tarp that covered the jeeps front and back ends. It looked like something had taken a rather large bite out of it.

And then I saw the cherry of this almost macabre sundae before me. These two small objects made me wish I hadn't gotten so involved, that I hadn't observed, that I hadn't been so curious. Among a littering of wreckage and pieces that I could not identify (I tried not to think too much into it), I saw a helmet and a small shoe. A motorcycle helmet and a small white sneaker. My mind flicked back to the pacing best friend and then to the brave one who caved under the stress. I put two and two together, and I nearly drove myself into the Nissan once more.

For the rest of the way home, I couldn't bear to listen to Graceland. I felt a sickening lurch in my heart and I found myself praying to a God whom I'm not even sure exists. Help him. Give him strength. Be with him. I didn't know whether I was talking to myself or if I actually was being heard, but I really did hope it was the latter. I cried. I'll admit it. I cried for the brave one. With him, I suppose. Maybe the other drivers felt the same, maybe the man or woman behind the wheel of the Nissan was crying, too. I hope I wasn't the only one. It really was a distressing and saddening sight. I don't believe I'll ever really forget it.

Although it would have been extremely rude to roll the window down and holler to a bystander, ask him or her what happened who was involved, and whether or not those stock-still sheep lining the road really had cause to be there...I only wish I knew his name.