One Second

One second, I am driving down a country road with my wife and eight-month old son. The sun is shining in a clear blue sky with puffs of cotton ball clouds scattered about. Green trees and fields line both sides of the road. Pleasant conversation. All seems right with the world.

In the following second, I see down the road on the right, a blue sports car approach a stop sign from a side road. Plenty of time. The car looks like it might turn left in front of me. I gently ease up on the gas. At the last possible instant, the blue car decides to pull out in front me. She can make it if she hurries.

The next second, the blue car seems to stall and hesitate in my lane. Oh shit! My foot overreacts and stomps on the brake. The tires lock up. The car skids straight for the blue car. No control. My hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel. In the corner of my eye, I see my wife brace for the impact. Oh God, don‘t let me hit that car in the driver-side door.

The skid continues. Maybe it will just be a fender bender? No! We’re going to hit hard. I see her rear tire in front of me. I brace for that spine-chilling sound of crunching metal.

In the next second, whop! And then silence.

What happened? Where am I? I missed the dreaded sound of crunching metal. I can’t see in front of me. It suddenly feels very claustrophobic.

The air bags! I forgot about those. A hot, powdery fog fills the car. Hey, my head doesn’t hurt. Nor does my chest. Legs are okay. I’m not hurt, I think? But I can barely breath from the hot fog. Very stuffy. Through the thick web of cracks in the windshield, I see the wipers slowly brush across. It looks like a scene from a movie. A tiny smile curls up in the corner of my mouth. I turn and ask my wife, “Are you okay?”

She is holding her right hand and replies, “I think so. What about the baby?” He is not crying.

In the following second, I turn to my left to reach for the car door handle. Little pools of blood are forming on the back of my left hand. Hard to breath. The air in the car is getting stuffier. I try to open the door. It barely opens. Trapped? I want out! I manage to swing a leg around and kick the door open. Crunching metal.

The next second, I am out. I see the blue sports behind my car in the other lane, turned 180 degrees from the direction that I last saw it. The lady from the blue sports car is already out and bombarding me with words, “Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I saw you coming…”

I ignore her. My mission now is to get my son out of the car. The passenger door opens easily. Good. I reach in to unbuckle the baby from the car seat. He begins to whimper. He’s fine. Blood drips from my hand onto my son. I want him out as fast as possible.

In the next second, my son is in my arms outside of the car and my wife is by my side. We are alive! We are okay.

Reaching to his chin, my wife begs, “Is he bleeding?”

“No, no! It’s me. It’s from me. He’s okay. Just a bit of shock.” Lucky kid. He has no idea of what just happened. Amazing how being in your parents’ arms seems to make everything all right.

In the next second, I realize that we are standing in the middle of a road between two wrecked cars. A couple of other cars have stopped from both directions. We move to the side of the road. My world feels like it has been knocked orthogonal from its foundation. I look at the sun to see if it was at least in the right position.

I try to focus on what the driver of the other car is saying. She is still throwing words at me. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right? I’m okay. I saw you coming. I thought I could beat you, but my transmission slipped. I was on my way back to the repair shop to get it fixed. Is your baby okay? I live just right there. You are bleeding.” She is talking a mile a minute. I catch a whiff of stale beer on her.

I look down at my left hand. Trickles of blood drip from my hand onto the red, Oklahoma dirt. The inside of my whole left arm begins to sting from a rug-like-burn from the air bag. More cuts above my elbow. The back of my hand is peppered with nicks and cuts. There is a small gash above the middle knuckle and another deeper gash with a flap of skin between the knuckles of the ring and little fingers. That one is going to need stitches.

In the following seconds, my wife runs back to the car to hunt for her cell phone to call for help. A witness approaches with an old towel for my hand and a piece of paper with his name and phone number on it. The other driver decides to run down the road to her home to get her boyfriend to help. Traffic begins to flow around my wrecked car. Most of the passing drivers ask if we need any help.

I gaze out toward the horizon over the green of a shallow valley. A gentle breeze stirs the air. A bird sings a happy tune. And the sense of time compression fades away as the world restarts its revolution around the late-afternoon sun.