slyc_willie
Captain Crash
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2006
- Posts
- 17,732
I've been sitting here at home for the better part of an hour, thinking about how close I came to actual, complete, and total death earlier this evening. It's only now that my fingers have stopped shaking enough that I can type, and I'm still going to have go back and edit.
Around nine o'clock this evening -- or last night, I suppose -- I was walking along the street with a couple friends of mine. We were heading from a local neighborhood bar to a movie theater around the corner. Figured it would be easier to leave their cars in the bar parking lot than try to hunt for a space in the theater's lot.
There were four of us. Myself, JC, Shelby, and Mark. JC's a tall, skinny, loud guy with a blunt sense of humor. Shelby's a cute, round-bodied girl who's always fighting with her boyfriend. Mark's a nice enough guy, if you overlook the Zanex, pot, and alcohol addictions.
So, we're heading along the street, on the sidewalk and walking against the traffic. It's night time, but there's plenty of light from the streetlamps and the blaring spotlights mounted atop the theater. None of us are too drunk -- except Mark -- but we're all pretty buzzed. I'd had two Spaten Optimators and a Maredsous Ten, a couple of my favorite beers. I was feeling pretty relaxed and comfortable.
I think I saw the truck coming. At least, I recognized that it was there, and driving down the street, in the midst of a long row of flashing headlights. but I wasn't really paying attention. Me and JC were talking about something -- girls, most likely -- and so my attention was elsewhere.
The car ahead of the truck slammed on its brakes. I heard the screeching tires, and reacted in the predictable way. We all did. We looked, startled and staring, seeing this little economy sedan (a Honda) just about stopped cold in the street.
The driver of the truck behind it didn't react so quickly. Slammed right into the back of the Honda at about forty miles an hour or so.
The people in the truck -- a man and his girlfriend, early twenties -- were moving their thigns from one apartment to another. The bed of the truck was full of crap. I'm not just saying that in a general sense; it was really crap. The kind of furniture and stuff they had probably picked out of someone else's garbage.
And part of it was this big piece of sheet metal. I have no idea what they would have used it for, maybe as a half-assed table, maybe one of them was a new age artist. I don't know. But what I do know is that that piece of metal, about as tall and broad as a typical human male, came flipping out of the bed of the truck, right toward us.
Right toward me. It was like the blade of a miter saw, spinning end over end, skipping over the road, the sidewalk, throwing sparks and singing like a tortured angel. I actually thought that's what it sounded like, after the fact, once my conscious mind started working again. A reverberating, screaming, high-pitched metallic sound.
And then it was right there, in my face. Maybe not literally, but that's what I remember. A piece of steel-grey metal, about an eighth of an inch thick, slicing through the air with all the malevolence of the scythe of Death himself.
It missed me.
I don't know how, but it did. I don't remember moving, dodging, turning, whatever. But still, it missed me, and continued flying past me to bury itself halfway through a hapless VW Beetle. One of the newer ones. It was green.
For a long moment, I just stared at that little car, skewered by the now-warped and sagging sheet of metal. It had not dawned on me, not just yet, that I could very well have been sliced in half by that thing. I mean, if it had such velocity that it could imbed itself halfway through a car, what would it do to a human body?
Shelby was the first to react in any way I can remember. She started screaming and letting out all sorts of 'holy fucking shits.' Then JC was grabbing me, looking me over, asking if I was all right. I couldn't answer. I was dumb, in the classic sense. I couldn't have said a word if I tried. Then I noticed that JC was looking at my shirt.
I was wearing this green button-down shirt, untucked, and I now noticed that there was a slash across the front, with a triangular flap hanging down. But only the fabric had been cut; my skin remained almost untouched, except for this thin red welt across my stomach. I wasn't even bleeding, which is a really good thing considering I take Coumadin.
Well, the cops showed up, talked to everyone involved. The guy and his girlfriend in the truck were freaking out, scared that they had almost killed someone. It took a while for it to sink in that that 'someone' was me. The driver of the Honda, I learned, claimed she had slammed on the breaks because she saw a cat darting across the road. She kept crying, telling the cops she was afraid of killing a cat.
I was offered medical treatment, which I declined. Really, there wasn't any damage other than that little red line across my stomach. I remember telling the officers on the scene that they should find out who owns the VW and break the news to them. I wasn't even thinking how close I came to being a statistic in a police blotter.
But it did hit me, finally, once JC drove me home. "You almost died tonight, man," he said.
My response was like something out of some stupid macho cop movie.
"Not the first time," I said.
And it's true. It's not the first time I've almost died. When I was in the military, I was shot by a black-marketeer. The bullet was lodged in my ribs; it really was just a flesh wound. I was diagnosed almost four years ago with a chronic blood-cloting disorder which has lead to two near-pulmonary embolisms, both of which I survived. And not three months ago, I was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street, and ended up in the hospital for a week.
My survival rate in such situations has been nothing but phenomenal. It makes me really believe in a God, even if I hadn't before. I can't help but believe that I have a very alert and stalwart guardian angel watching over me. And he, she, or it truly deserves more than what my humble life has to offer.
So, to that unknown entity, I would like to say, Thank You. Thank you for protecting me, thank you for averting yet another tragedy that would have ended my life.
And thank you, as well, to my friends JC and Shelby and even Mark, who were there to comfort me after the event. Especially JC. Drinks are on me next time, buddy.
And to all of you, my Lit friends, I am glad I am still here, to share with you my life, my imagination, my hopes and dreams and often chaotic thoughts.
God bless us all.
Around nine o'clock this evening -- or last night, I suppose -- I was walking along the street with a couple friends of mine. We were heading from a local neighborhood bar to a movie theater around the corner. Figured it would be easier to leave their cars in the bar parking lot than try to hunt for a space in the theater's lot.
There were four of us. Myself, JC, Shelby, and Mark. JC's a tall, skinny, loud guy with a blunt sense of humor. Shelby's a cute, round-bodied girl who's always fighting with her boyfriend. Mark's a nice enough guy, if you overlook the Zanex, pot, and alcohol addictions.
So, we're heading along the street, on the sidewalk and walking against the traffic. It's night time, but there's plenty of light from the streetlamps and the blaring spotlights mounted atop the theater. None of us are too drunk -- except Mark -- but we're all pretty buzzed. I'd had two Spaten Optimators and a Maredsous Ten, a couple of my favorite beers. I was feeling pretty relaxed and comfortable.
I think I saw the truck coming. At least, I recognized that it was there, and driving down the street, in the midst of a long row of flashing headlights. but I wasn't really paying attention. Me and JC were talking about something -- girls, most likely -- and so my attention was elsewhere.
The car ahead of the truck slammed on its brakes. I heard the screeching tires, and reacted in the predictable way. We all did. We looked, startled and staring, seeing this little economy sedan (a Honda) just about stopped cold in the street.
The driver of the truck behind it didn't react so quickly. Slammed right into the back of the Honda at about forty miles an hour or so.
The people in the truck -- a man and his girlfriend, early twenties -- were moving their thigns from one apartment to another. The bed of the truck was full of crap. I'm not just saying that in a general sense; it was really crap. The kind of furniture and stuff they had probably picked out of someone else's garbage.
And part of it was this big piece of sheet metal. I have no idea what they would have used it for, maybe as a half-assed table, maybe one of them was a new age artist. I don't know. But what I do know is that that piece of metal, about as tall and broad as a typical human male, came flipping out of the bed of the truck, right toward us.
Right toward me. It was like the blade of a miter saw, spinning end over end, skipping over the road, the sidewalk, throwing sparks and singing like a tortured angel. I actually thought that's what it sounded like, after the fact, once my conscious mind started working again. A reverberating, screaming, high-pitched metallic sound.
And then it was right there, in my face. Maybe not literally, but that's what I remember. A piece of steel-grey metal, about an eighth of an inch thick, slicing through the air with all the malevolence of the scythe of Death himself.
It missed me.
I don't know how, but it did. I don't remember moving, dodging, turning, whatever. But still, it missed me, and continued flying past me to bury itself halfway through a hapless VW Beetle. One of the newer ones. It was green.
For a long moment, I just stared at that little car, skewered by the now-warped and sagging sheet of metal. It had not dawned on me, not just yet, that I could very well have been sliced in half by that thing. I mean, if it had such velocity that it could imbed itself halfway through a car, what would it do to a human body?
Shelby was the first to react in any way I can remember. She started screaming and letting out all sorts of 'holy fucking shits.' Then JC was grabbing me, looking me over, asking if I was all right. I couldn't answer. I was dumb, in the classic sense. I couldn't have said a word if I tried. Then I noticed that JC was looking at my shirt.
I was wearing this green button-down shirt, untucked, and I now noticed that there was a slash across the front, with a triangular flap hanging down. But only the fabric had been cut; my skin remained almost untouched, except for this thin red welt across my stomach. I wasn't even bleeding, which is a really good thing considering I take Coumadin.
Well, the cops showed up, talked to everyone involved. The guy and his girlfriend in the truck were freaking out, scared that they had almost killed someone. It took a while for it to sink in that that 'someone' was me. The driver of the Honda, I learned, claimed she had slammed on the breaks because she saw a cat darting across the road. She kept crying, telling the cops she was afraid of killing a cat.
I was offered medical treatment, which I declined. Really, there wasn't any damage other than that little red line across my stomach. I remember telling the officers on the scene that they should find out who owns the VW and break the news to them. I wasn't even thinking how close I came to being a statistic in a police blotter.
But it did hit me, finally, once JC drove me home. "You almost died tonight, man," he said.
My response was like something out of some stupid macho cop movie.
"Not the first time," I said.
And it's true. It's not the first time I've almost died. When I was in the military, I was shot by a black-marketeer. The bullet was lodged in my ribs; it really was just a flesh wound. I was diagnosed almost four years ago with a chronic blood-cloting disorder which has lead to two near-pulmonary embolisms, both of which I survived. And not three months ago, I was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street, and ended up in the hospital for a week.
My survival rate in such situations has been nothing but phenomenal. It makes me really believe in a God, even if I hadn't before. I can't help but believe that I have a very alert and stalwart guardian angel watching over me. And he, she, or it truly deserves more than what my humble life has to offer.
So, to that unknown entity, I would like to say, Thank You. Thank you for protecting me, thank you for averting yet another tragedy that would have ended my life.
And thank you, as well, to my friends JC and Shelby and even Mark, who were there to comfort me after the event. Especially JC. Drinks are on me next time, buddy.
And to all of you, my Lit friends, I am glad I am still here, to share with you my life, my imagination, my hopes and dreams and often chaotic thoughts.
God bless us all.
to you both.
