Faith in Man Restored

There are many things that go through your mind when you’re sitting in your car by the side of the road. I could have been crushed by a Mac truck. I’m going to make all these people late for their Valentines’ Day dates. I could have killed a car full of people. I sat in my crumpled 95 Honda Civic waiting for the second cop car to come and stop traffic so I can get back on the freeway. The first cop, an Asian officer in a yellow rain slicker, was 100 feet away with his high beams shining directly at me. I fell into a stupor while I waited, hypnotized by the lights of oncoming traffic and the sound of the rain hitting my windshield.

I lost control of my car driving home from Walnut Creek yesterday. No one’s bad, just an accident. I’m guessing I slipped on an oil slick on the freeway, coaxed out by the rain, and I just careened. My car, from the fast lane, did a 180 and I crossed all four lanes and crashed into the right hand barrier of 24, facing oncoming traffic. Wow, I thought…that was just like in the movies.

I still can’t believe I didn’t fucking kill anyone or kill myself. I slammed my head against the side of the car pretty hard and I scanned my body quickly for any visible blood. Thank God, there’s nothing. A young Filipino guy with a beige knit cap tapped on the passenger side. I rolled down the window. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine, I think.” “Do you need help?” “I think I’m going to call 911 now.” “Do you need any help?” “I think I’m fine, thanks.” He goes. A little later, a white dude comes along, except he asks if I’d like him to wait with me until 911 shows up. Under normal circumstances and if I was, say, by the side of the road, out of gas or with a blown out tire, my mind would think “Hells no, sucker, move on!”; my mouth would say, “No, thank you, I’m fine” and my hand would whip out my AAA card with an efficiency that said, See? I’m a-ok, thank you very much.

This situation was surely not part of the Monday night I had scheduled for myself. Five o’clock, leave office. Five-thirty, get home. Six o’clock, run for an hour. Six-thirty, back at home to spend the evening with my S.O. to commemorate this Hallmark-sanctioned day of love. You thought you could have your first good Valentine’s Day? Ha-ha, my mind sing-songs in my head.

“Really? You wouldn’t mind waiting with me?” asks the girl, while the woman in me takes a nap in the back seat. We’re chatting away, as I half-listen to the hold message 911 is looping in my ear. His name is Frank and he’s a young college kid going to art school in the City. He’s on his way to a soccer meeting, postponing his Valentine’s Day date till Wednesday. In a surreal way, it felt very first-date-ish.

Another dude with glasses taps on my window and asks if we needed a flare. Sure, that sounds like the thing to do. Frank gets out of the car to help him light and set it on the road. I’m dazed, still, cursing the fact that now I’ll never be able to get my run in tonight. Shit goddamn it. Beef for lunch yesterday, pork for dinner…I had way too many meat products yesterday and I really needed to run. Ah well…

I watch as Frank and the guy with glasses get smaller as smaller as they place the burning flare in front of my car. One hundred yards, two hundred yards…I have no idea, actually, how long a yard is.

This is the point where the Asian officer pulls up. We all congregate outside in the rain, discussing what exactly, I don’t remember. But after a few minutes, Frank and the guy with glasses drive off. The officer instructs me to wait in my car for the second cop car, and the obedient girl in me quickly complies.

A great many things ran through my head that night. Could have died. Could have killed someone. Could have ended everything… But three strangers came and asked me if I needed help that night and restored my faith in man.

I’ll leave you with that thought.