Untitled
The first thing I remember out of the ordinary that day was a man on the island of 509, preaching the divinity of Christ through the swirl of passing cars, yelling about our sins and holy salvation.
"How do you think he got out there?" Cat asked, sharing in my fascination. I really didn't know, but I suppose he just had to cross a lot of traffic. But maybe, just maybe, he was beamed down from Above.
I tend not to believe in omens, but thinking back, that was the first and only time someone has been on the particular place, sharing their religion. Coincidence can explain it, but it's a long shot.
Continuing on with the ride, the chatter sunk around me as usual. I paid no attention to where we were, or when we stopped. Those train tracks were a daily ritual, as familiar as wearing socks with tennis shoes. Our speed slowly regressed and we came to a soft stop. For some people, buried in some stories, burned into some memories, accidents come slow, leave slow, let each searing millisecond be able to play through and through until they go insane with it. For some, they can remember each little detail, each little sound wave, of every moment. For me, it was the opposite - the time had come and gone without my realization of it.
At the moment of collision, I happened to not be looking at Cat, which would have put the initial crunch right in front of my eyes. Instead, I was staring out the front window, thinking of the upcoming weekend, the upcoming future of me, as I heard the unmistakable sound of metal on metal and glass shattering into a million life-threatening pieces. My head involuntarily jerked to the left, hoping to catch the last milliseconds of the crash. I saw two cars, one half-sideways, another slammed into it's rear right, smoking and broken. The first thought that zoomed from my brain to my nerves was, "Glad that wasn't us."
I remember that moment with astonishing clarity due to the next car that got involved: us. A truck, obviously trying to miss the accident, swerved to its right like any sane person would do and nicked the back corner of our bus as soon as my brain had stopped its initial thought. Kids screamed, froze in shock, sat numbly. My body lurched forward, jerked with a violence no human arms could ever possess, and I didn't even have time to wonder how bad we were hit and if the kids in the back were alive and breathing still. Acting as any morbidly curious person would do, I craned my neck to the point where I thought I might be able to catch the action. The corner of my eye caught a flash of motion and my eyes jumped to that spot. I watched as a large pickup truck tipped on its side after it had nicked us, then slid up the gravel, spitting rocks and glass. The roof of it scraped along the chain-link fence it was pressed against, and a large hunk was caught and ripped away from the body of the truck. As it cleared the bus, I watched as the warm, breathing, live human body inside flopped and flailed hopelessly and helplessly inside like a stuffed crash test dummy. Metal and glass dented from its impact with the hard pavement pressed against her, nearly crushing her with its weight.
We all spent the next few seconds gripping ourselves and trying to figure out if our bodies were still intact and working properly.
The stench of smoke, rising from the car next to us, penetrated the walls and windows, only heightening my fear, yet in a way calming me of the idea that my time was passed and gone. Finally, the bus driver stood and told us to wait as help came. We scurried off the bus after a few minutes in a relieved mob, shaking and gasping and holding each other like hugs were the only way to survive. We checked our loved ones, we checked our acquaintances, we checked our enemies. Moments like that bring you together like you won't understand until you've experienced it.
Eventually we were told to move along to the other side of the street, so all those involved in the accident would be together. Cell phones were passed for emergency calls with not a seconds thought to minutes or money. Firemen came and checked victims and cars and shaken students. A group of 5 or so used the Jaws of Life to pry the door from the smashed truck to pull the poor, mangled girl from inside as the rest of us watched in awe and horror. We were sent back on the bus as it was deemed the safest place, and eventually another came to pick us up and the flow of traffic was restored. We were all tense on the bus ride home, but as students climbed off at stop after stop, we realized that we would live through yet another day. Soon we relaxed, knowing that when we got back to our warm homes we could recount our nearly-fatal tale to family and friends, creating our own little spot in history and time.
<---head back home
