Three Feet of Life and Death
I remember, once when I was a child, I was in what was almost a car wreck not 400 yards from my house.
My father had been drinking heavily, as was his wont, and my mother remember that it was time to pick up my younger brother from a friend’s house. My father insisted he drive, and in those days no one crossed him, so we got in the car and let him drive us off. We managed to pick Tucker up without incident, save for father being rude to everyone for no reason, and playing bad music on the radio. He always listened to the radio. I never knew why, I hated the radio, which I think is why I still know very little about the people that make music: I just listen to bands I might hear by accident. He yelled at me and complained to Mum, saying this thing or that thing was wrong with her, the house, the car, or his life, and it was someone else’s fault, never his own.
After we got Tucker, he and I initiated what was something of a game to us when he was in his drunken state, which was to agitate him as best we could with verbal jabs, and try to not get hit by his hands as they flew into the back to slap us, like shrapnel, having no real direction.
“You’re drunk dad! You should slow down.” I usually concentrated my attacks on his drunkenness or his inability to do something (in this case drive without getting everyone killed). There were seeds of real fear in my voice, though. I was really afraid of him when he was in this state, and I knew he was a terrible driver, even when he was sober. I never wanted to ride with him when drove; I never really wanted to be near him at all. He was a scary creature, and vile. He was the Urukai in my life, and there was no way to get far enough away that that wouldn’t hit.
Naturally, he sped up to spite me in his drunken state. This was not something I had expected, and was very scared when he did, crying out for him to slow down, but he only got faster and faster each time I pled with him. Mother asked to for him to slow down, but he just told her to “shutup woman,” so I thought for sure we were dead. As we came around a turn, another car was speeding heavily, and didn’t make the curve, blowing through our lane and up the side of the embankment made by the carving out of roadbeds into mountains, and swerved back down, into the road, and continued on its merry way. Our car stopped after this, and we panted for a moment, terrified, and then made our way home.
The question I wonder is what would have happened in those scant moments, if I hadn’t said a word, or if he was a kind man, and had listened to me, or if mother had had any kind of sway with him. If he had gone a reasonable speed would I be dead now? Would we have been okay or would have never even seen the incident if we had been going slowly enough? How is it that there was three feet between the two cars, and we both came out unscathed? What grace is afforded us in those brief seconds between life and death, where everything is foggy, but everything can nevertheless be seen with such perfect clarity…and then it’s gone, maybe to never be found again.
My father had been drinking heavily, as was his wont, and my mother remember that it was time to pick up my younger brother from a friend’s house. My father insisted he drive, and in those days no one crossed him, so we got in the car and let him drive us off. We managed to pick Tucker up without incident, save for father being rude to everyone for no reason, and playing bad music on the radio. He always listened to the radio. I never knew why, I hated the radio, which I think is why I still know very little about the people that make music: I just listen to bands I might hear by accident. He yelled at me and complained to Mum, saying this thing or that thing was wrong with her, the house, the car, or his life, and it was someone else’s fault, never his own.
After we got Tucker, he and I initiated what was something of a game to us when he was in his drunken state, which was to agitate him as best we could with verbal jabs, and try to not get hit by his hands as they flew into the back to slap us, like shrapnel, having no real direction.
“You’re drunk dad! You should slow down.” I usually concentrated my attacks on his drunkenness or his inability to do something (in this case drive without getting everyone killed). There were seeds of real fear in my voice, though. I was really afraid of him when he was in this state, and I knew he was a terrible driver, even when he was sober. I never wanted to ride with him when drove; I never really wanted to be near him at all. He was a scary creature, and vile. He was the Urukai in my life, and there was no way to get far enough away that that wouldn’t hit.
Naturally, he sped up to spite me in his drunken state. This was not something I had expected, and was very scared when he did, crying out for him to slow down, but he only got faster and faster each time I pled with him. Mother asked to for him to slow down, but he just told her to “shutup woman,” so I thought for sure we were dead. As we came around a turn, another car was speeding heavily, and didn’t make the curve, blowing through our lane and up the side of the embankment made by the carving out of roadbeds into mountains, and swerved back down, into the road, and continued on its merry way. Our car stopped after this, and we panted for a moment, terrified, and then made our way home.
The question I wonder is what would have happened in those scant moments, if I hadn’t said a word, or if he was a kind man, and had listened to me, or if mother had had any kind of sway with him. If he had gone a reasonable speed would I be dead now? Would we have been okay or would have never even seen the incident if we had been going slowly enough? How is it that there was three feet between the two cars, and we both came out unscathed? What grace is afforded us in those brief seconds between life and death, where everything is foggy, but everything can nevertheless be seen with such perfect clarity…and then it’s gone, maybe to never be found again.
posted by Nathan at 2:28 PM
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