I awoke to the sound
of thunder rolling across the sky and smiled wide. Waking to thunder
is almost as good as falling asleep to it. Dim light radiated from
around the curtains that keep my bedroom womb-like after sunrise. It
was unusually dim for 8AM. My smile faded realizing that I had to
drive down I-45 to the underbelly of Houston at 10AM in heavy rain. I
hoped it would stop by then. I needed to get my personal effects from
my car, totaled in a wreck.
Seven hours later, I
returned home tired and cranky. A headache had landed in my skull
like a miscreant raptor in its nest. My left calf hurt. My right hip
was sore. There were pains all over my left arm, making me fidget on
the car arm rest to prevent further aggravation. My neck was as stiff
as a Catholic school teacher, and when I turned just right, pain
stabbed at me like a child to a beached jellyfish. And the
green-brown bruise on my left hand looked like something from a
zombie movie.
I’ve been in
fender-benders before. The worst was in the mid 90s when a car dashed
out in front of my father’s car. But this was more than a
fender-bender- it was a roll-over.
In danger, so much
hits the mind at once that time is suspended, making what happened in
a matter of seconds appear to last minutes. I’ve come close to
dying several times, so I know all about the flashes of life when
death looks up from whatever he’s doing to check me out. “Don’t
mind me Mr. D. I’m not going with you just yet.”
It had been a
horrendous week. Hurricane Baryl blew in on Monday knocking out power
to over a million Houstonians, including me. It’s July in Texas, so
it’s hotter—one of two seasons we have: hot and hotter. I am
fortunate to have friends who let me crash in the comfort of their
air-conditioned abodes instead of sweltering in mine.
My dear friend
Sharon is one who took me in. She invited me, my friend Hayden, and
her niece Meagan to an event at the art museum Saturday night. I made
tacos from food in my fridge that would have spoiled otherwise. It
was going to be a swell evening of tacos, art, ritas, and pound cake
topped with strawberries with my friends.
 |
The penguin in the sky the night prior
|
On the way home we
stopped at St. Thomas University to walk the labyrinth under the
watchful eye of the clock tower. Sharon found a penguin-shaped puddle
from rain that moved through earlier. The previous night I saw a
penguin in the clouds. Such fortune- I should buy lottery tickets.
We left as the tower
struck 9:30. I traveled west on Alabama to drive by the old place
where Mom and I lived when I was in 1st grade. Then a left
on Kirby to get on the freeway back to Sharon’s. The light at
Shepard was still dark from the Beryl power outages, which means it
was now a 4-say stop.
 |
The Alabama
|
At this intersection
is the iconic Alabama theater, with its retro sign standing sentry on
Shepard. The old theater is now a Trader Joe’s, with their huge
letters glowing over the parking lot. Why did the storefronts have
power, but the light didn’t? As I came to a stop, I was telling my
friends about a burger place a few blocks south that Mom used to
love. It was called the Purple Cow.
The cars on Shepard
had stopped before taking their turn. Then it was mine. I was almost
across the road when suddenly there was a huge crash. My car spun and
there was the old Alabama Theater building right in front of me. I
registered that we had been hit. Dammit. Now I was going to have deal
with some idiot and exchange information. They would blame me for
going out of turn. The aggravation of it all.
Then the world
tilted sideways. I recognized a strange sensation from only a few
weeks ago, when riding roller coasters at Six Flags in Arlington,
Texas. As the world continued to turn 90 degrees I looked to my left
and saw the pavement coming closer. I could see the pebbles in the
pavement and thought of the poem in my poetry book called Pebbles for this very reason.
Suddenly, a pillow
appeared. My mind registered that we were hit and now rolling, so the
airbags deployed. I’d never seen an airbag up close and knew they
could really hurt. I felt the nylon on my cheek, much like an air
mattress. It was soft, but also cold from the
burst of gas, just like emergency life vests we inflate during our
annual training at the airline.
We came to a stop
and through the broken windshield all I could see was pavement. I was
upside down and felt immense pain in my left hand, almost as if it
had been hanging outside as we rolled. Sharon was moving and I knew
at least the two of us were alive. From the back seat Hayden and
Meagan responded that they were alright.
Up was now down. I
saw flashing red and blue lights from the stress ball I keep in the
car. It was lying in broken windshield glass above my head- further
confirmation that we had flipped. I could also see my sunglasses and
Dash, my plush penguin. It was surreal.
I never saw the
other car, which struck on the right, rear side of me. Had it hit the
front, I would have seen it. I used to
hear sonic booms in the Texas Panhandle as a kid. This was worse,
like a sonic boom at its source. The stench of accident filled the
air- the awful odor of power steering fluid, oil, and rubber on hot
car innards.
Sharon began yelling
that she needed help and I panicked that she was badly hurt. There
were people outside my door and a voice coming from the rear-view
mirror. I had forgotten that my car calls when it
detects an accident. Someone from outside asked if I was OK. They
were trying to open the door, but I didn’t think to unlock it. I
shouted for them to help Sharon.
Someone said to shut
the engine off. Yes, I could hear it was still running. Why wouldn’t
it shut down automatically? I pushed the button, and it kept running.
I could still smell burning car. Outside my driver’s window I could
see feet. “She needs help on the passenger side,” I yelled again.
My left hand was
bloody, hurt bad, and I could barely move it. I began assessing myself
internally. The only pain was in my hand. “I’m not hurt, but she
needs help on the passenger side.” Why weren’t they helping her?
She was still calling out. I could see Hayden slip out the back
window. The car was still running. I pushed again. I heard the voice
from the rear-view mirror, but I was too concerned with my passengers and stopping
the engine. Why was it still running? The impact must have messed
things up. I tried a long press and looked up at all the broken
glass. In hindsight, I realize that it was still in drive.
 |
A healing hand
|
Sharon’s hand
braced against the broken windshield so she could release her
seatbelt to get out. Oh, that’s going to hurt later, imagining
hundreds of tiny cuts on her hand. The engine cut off and the fumes
lessened. I reached behind the white airbag to open the door and
people pried it open. “Are you alright?” “Are you hurt?” It
looked like a sea of legs standing there, all upside down.
Sharon was now out
of the car. I could hear Meagan outside and knew everyone was out. I
felt like a captain on a sinking ship. Only after everyone else was
safe could I leave. The broken glass scared me. The only way out of
the seat was to brace myself on the ground, but there was nothing but
a billion pieces of glass, ready to slice me up. I was oddly
comfortable suspended in my seatbelt. Was I really upside down?
I wracked my brain
how to evacuate without cutting myself. There was too much
information coming at me and I couldn’t think, but I didn’t
panic. If I could move my left leg up and release the seatbelt I
could pivot around. I released the buckle with my right hand. Thank
goodness it didn’t hurt as much as my left. I don’t know how I
did it, but suddenly the world was right side up once more. There was
a woman and two men. One man said to relax, he would lift me. I
wanted to do it myself, so I grabbed the cane still in my car from
after covid, now lying on the ground, but it was mostly the others
who helped me up.
Now that I was
standing, I could see the severity of the accident and better assess
my pain. I tried to walk but stumbled. My left leg hurt and there
was discomfort in my hip. My breathing was shallow and rapid; I was
light-headed. With help at each arm I made it to the sidewalk. From
there I saw the bottom side of my car, as dark as the night sky
above.
 |
The other car
|
The woman who helped
me to the curb she was a nurse and asked questions. “I
don’t feel any pain except this hand,” I said, showing it to her,
with blood coming from the knuckle. Someone mentioned that there was
also blood from my right middle finger. It wasn’t flowing much, so
I wasn’t too concerned. She continued her questions. “I’m in
Houston. We were on our way home. There are 4 of us.” “Follow my
fingers with your eyes,” she said. So I did.
Hayden was crouching
next to me as if we were just waiting for a bus and assured me he
was OK. Meagan was seated to my right and confirmed that she was
fine. Sharon was on her feet and well. I felt such relief that they
weren’t seriously hurt.
I looked at the car
that hit us—a small blue thing. “Did someone check on the other
driver?” I asked. “Are they alright?” There was a man in front
of me, one of 4 people. “I’m the other driver. I’m alright.”
He stepped closer and said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see that
light. I’m sorry.” I didn’t want to say ‘that’s alright,’
or ‘anyone could have done it.’ He was at fault, so I responded,
“I’m glad you’re OK.” He walked away and that was the last we
spoke.
I was breathing like
I’d run from St. Thomas University to get there. The nurse was
concerned. “Yes, I get winded easily as a result of long covid. No,
I’m not nauseous. Yes, I am a bit lightheaded.” I looked at
Hayden, “You’re sure you’re alright?” I asked. “Yes.”
 |
My poor baby
|
As the police
arrived, the sound of the sonic crash kept playing in my head. The
sensation of spinning and rolling. The sight of the world revolving
and of the ground to my left rushing towards me. The softness of the
white plastic pillow. These thoughts rushed through my mind as I looked at
my overturned car, my precious Wendy. She is the best car I’ve had.
My red Hyundai Santa Fe, with brake-hold feature, a head’s up
display, smart cruise control, great speakers, and the main reason
for wanting her- the air-conditioned seats, or as my brother calls
them, “ball chillers.” I began to cry.
I looked up to see a
fire truck coming right at me from the south. It stopped about 10
feet away with its headlights shining on us. A car honked as it tried
to maneuver through the intersection. Someone chastised the driver. I
didn’t care. Do what you want. We were all safe and alive. I
focused on my breathing, wondering how my hand could hurt so much. It
occurred to me that I could be going into shock. Does one recognize
that in oneself? My car was upside down and I was in shock.
A wrecker arrived,
then another fire truck, and finally an ambulance. I looked at my
watch. It was nearly 10PM. Gosh, it seemed like midnight. I asked
Hayden to take photos of the accident scene. The nurse came forward
to let me know she was staying to give a statement to the police- she
had been right behind me. I thanked her and asked her name. I think
she said Anna. I introduced myself, and that was the last I saw of
her.
Meagan was being
assessed, saying she had glass in her feet because she had taken her
shoes off in the car. I flashed to work when suggesting passengers
keep their shoes on for takeoff and landing. Those are the only 2
times you can crash, and you don’t want to run across a burning
runway covered by shards of metal in your stocking feet.
My right hand was
trembling, with blood on the middle finger. I wanted to stand up but
couldn’t, due to pain in my left calf. I was ordered by the EMT to
stay seated. When a gurney arrived I wasn’t too proud to get in it.
I did so with assistance and very little grace, but felt like a
pharaoh once I did. Inside the ambulance I answered questions while
they cleaned blood from my hands and head, and gave me an ice pack
for my index finger, which was now throbbing.
Meagan came and sat
next to me. Sharon had already called a friend for a ride so she
could fetch her car to take us home later. Meagan called Hayden to
convince him to come with us and get looked at. I could only hear her
side of the conversation. He was unsure of where we were; the
ambulance had moved. The medic said we were in the parking lot across
the street. I asked, “How many ambulances are out here?” Why
would he not see the big white box on wheels with flashing lights?
After some back and forth I said, “Don’t make me call him. Just
get the hell over here,” That made the EMT laugh, who was struggling to take my blood pressure, so I asked, “I AM alive, aren’t I?”
We were told we’d
be going to Memorial Hermann, literally down the street from the art
museum. During our stay in the ER we saw numerous patients arrive by
life flight- the paramedics wearing sharp blue and red jumpsuits with
a helicopter patch on the chest. I told one EMT that I was envious of
all the flights he got to take. Helicopters were my first aviation
love. He replied that it was a nice perk, but the job was really
tough.
Hayden took an Uber
home around midnight. After an x-ray showed my finger was not broken,
we finally left the ER around 4:30 in the morning. I refused the
front seat in Sharon’s car. I needed to close my eyes and process
the evening. My anxiety caused me to jump out of my skin when going
over bumps on the ride home. I was amazed Sharon could even drive.
We were hungry; it
had been 10 hours since tacos. As we ate, it dawned on me that no one
had asked if I drank alcohol that night. I had a glass of wine at the
museum- one of those light pours you get from cash bars. That was at
8PM. I remember it because we went to a lecture at 8:30.
As I pulled the
sheet over me on Sharon’s couch, the sun was coming up. The power
at my house was restored that morning and I wanted to be with my
kitties so bad. Sharon offered to take me home, disallowing me to
Uber. She was mothering Meagan and me, so I asked my friend Dee for a
ride. With Meagan off to check on Hayden, Sharon finally had time
alone to decompress.
Our aches and pains
grew worse overnight. Sharon said few people survive a rollover crash
such as ours. Had it been a huge pickup, or there been a car in the
way, or we not worn our seatbelts… it could have been worse. The
guilt of surviving a crash when your friends don’t is not something
I ever want to experience.
So I drove the
rental car downtown in the rain days later to see my car. The damage
left me speechless. Wendy was scraped and beat up on both sides. I
was unable to open my door and had to crawl through the passenger
side to retrieve things from the driver’s side. They lost my prized
United Airlines “tulip” license plate frame that I purchased 24
years ago, when I was in Chicago training for my job. I was quite
upset.
My hand was busted
and bruised, most likely from the airbag. I had a few pieces of glass
in my head and was concussed. I felt like I had played a game of
mud-football. I may have felt as if I lost that game, but actually I
won. We survived a horrific rollover car crash. I may have limped,
but we walked away from it. For that, I am most grateful.
 |
| Sharon saw this penguin and a mermaid just before the accident. |
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Mom wouldn’t be
around for their first anniversary; she passed away of cancer. She
had fought it for several years and kept how serious it was from us.
She had beat it once, and when it came back, we knew she’d do so
again. She was feeling well, looked fantastic, and was always in her
typical good mood. But she knew. She knew that was the last time she
would be with the whole family in this fashion, and she wanted to
soak it all in.
