Could Have Been.

I mentioned in my first post that I am one of those people that constantly analyzes the potential outcomes of every action around me. In college I minored in Creative Writing. This is a Creative Non Fiction essay that I wrote for one of my classes that perfectly describes the thoughts that go through my mind in a single second as I analyze potential outcomes. Hope you aren’t too bored or confused by my sudden change in direction with this post. I promise to get back to sarcastic self reflection quickly!

Could Have Been

My left middle and ring fingers reach out and flick the turn signal as I glance briefly around me: rearview, side mirror, blind spot. My hands shift ever so slightly on the wheel, guiding my Civic into the left lane. My eyes shift unconsciously from the mirrors, to the speedometer, to the road in front of me. I flick off the turn signal.
I squint my eyes at the headlights glaring in at me from the opposite side of the freeway. I turn my attention to the view in front of me and note the sky melting into an inky black, the faintest bit of cornflower blue on the horizon indicating when the sun must have dipped below view.
Reaching out with my right hand, I crank up the volume on the radio, singing along to the words of a song that I haven’t bothered to learn the name of. Glancing down at the speedometer, I lift my foot ever so slightly off the gas until the needle backs down to 65. The speed limit won’t change to 70 for another mile and a half. I am so familiar with this stretch of freeway that I could make this drive in my sleep. The song on the radio ends and is replaced with one that makes more grunting noises than actual music, so I switch the station. My eyes discern a sudden motion to my right and I look over my shoulder to see a small red Celica zipping up the onramp. I slam on my breaks as it bypasses the right lane entirely and barrels toward the left.

But, perhaps I didn’t see that small motion, or passed it off as an innocuous little hint of red as it flew past my peripheral vision. Maybe I neglect to hit the breaks. The Celica merges straight into my front end, causing my little Honda to spin wildly. It catches, the momentum of the spin too much for it to handle. It jerks to a sudden stop, straddling both the left and right lanes. I could begin to recover my senses, glancing around me just in time to see the headlights of the Dodge Ram that had been traveling behind me bearing down on my paralyzed vehicle, illuminating my face. My ears fill with the sounds of shattering glass and squealing tires just before the impact that will cut out all lights and sounds.

I swear under my breath and lift one hand to my chest and feel my heart, safe beneath my ribcage as it beats furiously, like an animal kicking to escape. I return both hands to the wheel and once again flick on the turn signal, moving into the right lane. The Celica’s taillights burn in the night as they grow smaller and more distant in front of me. A large white sign with black lettering moves past my window and I press my foot on the gas gently and my car responds faithfully, the needle reaching 72 in mere seconds.
A new song plays on the radio and I blink hard, the day’s events beginning to sink deep into my muscles, bones, and eyelids. I roll my shoulders back and forth and groan softly as my neck releases a deep popping sound from my spine—evidence of stress and past injuries.
The green sign with a gleaming “Exit 260” appears before me and I flip on my turn signal, leaving the freeway. My eyes glance in the rearview mirror and I can nearly see where the Celica entered the freeway in the distance behind me.

But maybe instead I am sitting there on the side of the freeway, my arms limp at my sides. My head is warm with my own blood, red and thick, as it slips soundlessly over my cheeks like a morbid trail of tears. My eyelids are twitching as sounds fill my ears: slamming car doors mixed with shouts to dial 9-1-1.
Someone approaches my car, which sits lopsidedly on the shoulder of the freeway, facing the wrong direction. A tire has been ripped from the axle. The windows are shattered, the glass strewn about the road, glittering like fresh-fallen snow. Someone slowly reaches a trembling hand into my car and places cold fingers against my throat, feeling for the rhythm that could signify life in my bleeding body.

My fingers shake as I flip the turn signal and shift my car into first before applying the gas and rotating the wheel to complete the 90 degree turn left. Building speed, my white car glides across the overpass. My eyes dart left and right before I pass beneath the glowing green light at the intersection. Gently, my right foot taps the breaks as I approach the white and black striped gates and flashing red lights.
A long train zips by. It can’t be going more than 40, but the longer I stare at the cars the more they begin to blur together, creating a haunting snake-like figure before my eyes. The cars roll over the tracks, chuh-chug, chuh-chug, chuh-chug, the slowed down song of a rattlesnake. The repeated sounds begin to lull me into a daze and my eyelids grow heavy again. The red lights blink on and off, click, click, click. The two sounds blend together as I am drowned in the light. Chuh-chug, click, chuh-chug, click, chuh-chug, click.

I have been sitting unmoved since the car came to a halt on the shoulder and I am bathed in a sudden glowing, blinking light as sirens approach. Red, white, blue. Fire trucks, ambulances and police cruisers arrive nearly simultaneously as uniformed men and women leap from their respective vehicles, armed with bags and flashlights and tools and radios.
EMTs approach my car first, noticing the stream of scarlet trailing down the driver’s side door, contrasting against the white of the vehicle’s paint. I remain motionless, unaware of their arrival, my hands limp in my lap as my head lolls to the side. They call to me:
“Can you hear me, miss?” one says, while another tries to pry open my door.
“Miss, can you tell us your name?”
I am unable to answer as one walks around to the passenger side and retrieves my purse from the floor, where it was flung during the collision. They find my drivers license and my cell phone. They begin looking for my emergency contact information.

At last, the final car rolls across the tracks and the chuh-chug, chuh-chug grows faint as the train vanishes into the darkness. The red lights cease and the black and white bars go up. I press my foot lightly on the gas and the car shudders and shakes as its tires roll over the railroad tracks before accelerating to 50 and I once again turn up the volume on the radio.
I keep my eyes on the road as I reach my right hand across the passenger seat. I feel a shot of triumph move through my body as my fingers contact the cool leather of my purse and I reach inside, retrieving my slim pink phone from its case. From memory, I press the down arrow with my thumb, followed by 3 quick taps of the 4 key, which brings me to the letter ‘I’ in the phonebook. I glance down quickly and note that my In Case of Emergency contacts are still stored in their proper place. Setting the phone back down on the passenger seat, I begin checking all my mirrors again as my car crosses the bridge over the river.
My lips barely move as I sing along quietly to the song on the radio. It is something I have heard before, but many of the words are still unfamiliar and my lips and tongue fumble over each other as I try to get the lyrics right. The lights from the casino loom ahead, a shocking streak of lights in an otherwise dark area. It is the only structure for several miles, other than a few scattered houses and run-down firework stands. The lights glow and flash: Jackpot over $32,000!! The lights blink 3 times in red and gold as the large figure flashes across the screen. I gently apply my right foot to the brake as I approach the intersection ahead of me.

The EMTs move me gently from the remains of my car onto a back board. They strap me down, securing red straps around my legs, waist and chest while shouting orders to each other, foreign numbers which I could not have understood:
“151 over—”
“Blood pressure’s dropping.”
“—lots of blood. Do we have a unit of A positive?”
I may be unaware of all of this. I am semi-conscious and unable to understand. I hear the ominous beeping from a machine in the ambulance as they attach my body to various machines to monitor my status.

I reach out and flick on the turn signal and made my right turn as the light turns green. I pass a small blue house on the left, the driveway filled with trucks and a beaten-up old Mazda. Yellow light escapes all the windows in the house, making it warm and inviting. I smile a slow smile as I drive passed it and continue down the road, curving sharp to the right as my Honda climbs the sloping hill.

The sound of ripping safety wrappers reverberates through the ambulance. The muddled and urgent voices of the EMTs are fighting their way into my head. I try to open my eyes. I focus every ounce of energy into moving a single finger. But I feel myself letting go. They try to fight for me.
“She’s crashing, get the—”

My wheels roll to a halt at the 2-way stop at Mountain View and Olson. I glance in both directions, looking for headlights that may be approaching too quickly for me to make my turn. My finger flicks on the turn signal once more and I guide my car around to complete a left turn onto Mountain View Road. 2 more turns and I will be in my driveway.

“Charge to 150.” An EMT barks, rubbing 2 metallic paddles together.
“Charge to 150.” Another confirms, charging the machine.
“Clear.” The EMT presses the paddles to my chest and a shock reverberates through my body.

I reach down with my right hand and pull up on the emergency brake of my car. I flip off the headlights and grab my purse, climbing out of the warmth of my car and into the shock of the cool night air. My body shudders involuntarily as I hold my keys in my right hand and reach over my shoulder, pressing the ‘lock’ button on the small black remote on my keychain.

But I am unresponsive. The beeping shifts to a long, steady wail. The lines cease moving in peaks and valleys and are replaced by a thin, flat plain.

My eyes catch the quick flash of the headlights as the car resounds with a loud “BEEP!” I smile and return the goodnight, letting out a loud “Beep” from my throat, which floats across the breeze into the night.
I listen as I hear my dog barking in the front hallway through the door and my mother shouts in return, “Jackson Browne what are you barking at? There’s nothing out there, buddy.”

Maybe my heart stopped beating on that dark stretch of freeway.

Faint sirens resound in the distance.