Gutsy Guava #7
He never should have been there in the first place. But after a lifetime of crossing the line between safety and danger and then sitting down in the void so many had lost their lives to, “should haves” ceased to mean so much. So on that night, when he climbed into his car to head home, taking the back roads didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Less cops anyways, which always makes for a better trip. Narrow, windy roads were a hallmark in this county, but learning to drive on them since age 16 gives a person a pretty good sense of where safety is put at risk. But even a little bit of alcohol can mar a lifetime of perfect cornering skill, and toss a persons fate to the laws of physics. Laws that seem even worse than the ones the police you chose to avoid enforce on a daily basis. The car, moments before an extension of man and cool, smooth method of acceleration, suddenly became a loose, screeching mass of metal decidedly unfriendly. Even before the impact, he found himself cursing the so very generic accident he had just had. Before everything sort of faded away.
The paramedics, when they got to the accident scene, had very little left to do. Ross, the eldest medic with five years service in this area, didn’t even bother quickening his pace as he walked towards the vehicle. “See how there are no skid marks here, save for the very apex of the turn?” he asked of the new trainee he had been stuck with. “Held on the throttle all the way through the turn. It isn’t pleasant, but we don’t have much of a job here, I would guess”. The young man, Mark turned and replied. “Sadistic view. Hold this while I go see if whoever was in there is at least barely holding on”. Ross shook his head. “No, don’t bother. The firemen have showed up anyway, and they’ll need to pry this mess apart as is. It’s unsafe right now, just get things ready”. Mark focused back on the accident in front of him. What he could only assume was once a car now looked more like something from a war. Pieces spread around, with the main body half folded around a tree. Taking a deep breath of night air, he wondered to himself if this was a job he wanted to continue holding for very long and turned to face Ross. “You seem pretty congenial about this whole thing”. Ross almost laughed. “No other way for me to deal with it. Most of the people I see have accidents; they never should have been there in the first place. You have to find some way to shake it off, I just prefer detachment”.
John O’Rourke had never liked people working with the police force, or the medical services much. They would hand him a sheet of paper, detailing the issue at hand in sterile, unforgiving terms, and then ask him to turn it into a reason, some kind of condolence for parents, spouses, friends. It wasn’t the job that bothered him, but the way that their work was passed off to him at the point when emotions became involved. He cleared his throat anyway, and began to speak into the microphone. “And, uh, in light of the recent driving accident out on pharaohs lane, a local boy was killed at about 11:54 pm, as most of you know”. Never could do introductions worth a damn, he thought to himself. But sometimes you make do. “He was traveling at about 70 miles per hour, when his car struck a tree after he lost control. Cause of death was ruled trauma, possibly internal bleeding. He was almost certainly dead on impact”. Quick, feverish glances up let John know that aside from the standard few reporters and suits taking notes, the boy’s parents were sitting towards the back of the room, holding each other for dear life. “Uh, yes, there is something called the severity index, which provides a means of measuring acceleration and length of time it is experienced, and the numbers produced in an estimate comparable situation showed that those experienced in this accident were more than sufficient to…” another glance up, and the parents were the only people left in the room. Rocking back and forth, they had invested more time and effort in their child’s life than anything else, and he had to sum it up in a statement for the news and concerned residents. “And yes, uh…. I’m sure he will be missed. A great deal, by all those who knew him. Thank you”. John rushed away from the microphone, cursing himself for taking this job.
Ben had seen hundreds of roadside alters, candles and flowers spread about for a lost loved one. And somehow, they had all seemed trivial and out of place along roads he drove regularly. But now, standing in front of the spot his best friend died, it all made sense to him, for the first time. The flowers and ornaments weren’t there as a means of marking the place, or to honor the fallen who had lost their lives there. They were there so those who loved the fallen had something to see, because without them a tree covered in scars seems somewhat anticlimactic. It still did, to him anyway, as he looked up and down what he could see of the road. Just another spot, where something sad happened. He had finished being sad about it, even had a stint of anger at his friends for their depressive reactions. Really he was just utterly lost, lost in the simple idiocy of it. It all seemed so hopelessly generic, that his friend would die in a drunk driving accident, and he would then stand on the spot, in the middle of god-awful nowhere reminiscing? It was all still somewhat hard to believe. He sighed, and aloud to nobody in particular said “god damn it. Why did you always have to speed? And drink? You could at least pick one dangerous thing to do at once!” shaking his head, he walked away. “you never should have been here in the first place”.
The paramedics, when they got to the accident scene, had very little left to do. Ross, the eldest medic with five years service in this area, didn’t even bother quickening his pace as he walked towards the vehicle. “See how there are no skid marks here, save for the very apex of the turn?” he asked of the new trainee he had been stuck with. “Held on the throttle all the way through the turn. It isn’t pleasant, but we don’t have much of a job here, I would guess”. The young man, Mark turned and replied. “Sadistic view. Hold this while I go see if whoever was in there is at least barely holding on”. Ross shook his head. “No, don’t bother. The firemen have showed up anyway, and they’ll need to pry this mess apart as is. It’s unsafe right now, just get things ready”. Mark focused back on the accident in front of him. What he could only assume was once a car now looked more like something from a war. Pieces spread around, with the main body half folded around a tree. Taking a deep breath of night air, he wondered to himself if this was a job he wanted to continue holding for very long and turned to face Ross. “You seem pretty congenial about this whole thing”. Ross almost laughed. “No other way for me to deal with it. Most of the people I see have accidents; they never should have been there in the first place. You have to find some way to shake it off, I just prefer detachment”.
John O’Rourke had never liked people working with the police force, or the medical services much. They would hand him a sheet of paper, detailing the issue at hand in sterile, unforgiving terms, and then ask him to turn it into a reason, some kind of condolence for parents, spouses, friends. It wasn’t the job that bothered him, but the way that their work was passed off to him at the point when emotions became involved. He cleared his throat anyway, and began to speak into the microphone. “And, uh, in light of the recent driving accident out on pharaohs lane, a local boy was killed at about 11:54 pm, as most of you know”. Never could do introductions worth a damn, he thought to himself. But sometimes you make do. “He was traveling at about 70 miles per hour, when his car struck a tree after he lost control. Cause of death was ruled trauma, possibly internal bleeding. He was almost certainly dead on impact”. Quick, feverish glances up let John know that aside from the standard few reporters and suits taking notes, the boy’s parents were sitting towards the back of the room, holding each other for dear life. “Uh, yes, there is something called the severity index, which provides a means of measuring acceleration and length of time it is experienced, and the numbers produced in an estimate comparable situation showed that those experienced in this accident were more than sufficient to…” another glance up, and the parents were the only people left in the room. Rocking back and forth, they had invested more time and effort in their child’s life than anything else, and he had to sum it up in a statement for the news and concerned residents. “And yes, uh…. I’m sure he will be missed. A great deal, by all those who knew him. Thank you”. John rushed away from the microphone, cursing himself for taking this job.
Ben had seen hundreds of roadside alters, candles and flowers spread about for a lost loved one. And somehow, they had all seemed trivial and out of place along roads he drove regularly. But now, standing in front of the spot his best friend died, it all made sense to him, for the first time. The flowers and ornaments weren’t there as a means of marking the place, or to honor the fallen who had lost their lives there. They were there so those who loved the fallen had something to see, because without them a tree covered in scars seems somewhat anticlimactic. It still did, to him anyway, as he looked up and down what he could see of the road. Just another spot, where something sad happened. He had finished being sad about it, even had a stint of anger at his friends for their depressive reactions. Really he was just utterly lost, lost in the simple idiocy of it. It all seemed so hopelessly generic, that his friend would die in a drunk driving accident, and he would then stand on the spot, in the middle of god-awful nowhere reminiscing? It was all still somewhat hard to believe. He sighed, and aloud to nobody in particular said “god damn it. Why did you always have to speed? And drink? You could at least pick one dangerous thing to do at once!” shaking his head, he walked away. “you never should have been here in the first place”.
posted by Anonymous at 11:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home