Gut Check

I woke up this morning with a premonition I would be in a car crash. This was strange for me. I am not really superstitious, and I’m certainly not prone to premonitions. Nonetheless, I resolved to do two things… One, DO NOT tell my wife, and two, drive with extra vigilance today.

A few hours later the red morning sun warmed my face while I drove on Route 15 south of Point of Rocks just a mile or so north Lucketts, Virginia. I had NPR’s Weekend Edition on the radio, and the soft tone of Scott Simon’s voice drifted from the car speakers.

As I crested a low, curving hill, almost instantly I couldn’t process the chaotic scene immediately ahead. A white pickup truck was tumbling away from me doing full rolls and landed in the grass a few yards off the road. In front of me on the pavement a black Escalade SUV sat sideways across the highway. Steam and black smoke rose from where its hood used to be, and white curtain airbags completely obscured the drivers compartment.

The entire scene, which literally lasted seconds, had played out through my windshield like a silent, slow motion movie.

I braked hard. In my rearview I saw a few cars slowing behind me, and I punched on my flashers. For a soul-searching moment I sat. A part of me wanted to pretend it was a dream. My hand trembling, I turned off the ignition, took a deep breath, opened my door, and ran headlong for the white, crumpled truck.

The truck lay on its side in front of a trail of smashed metal and glass. Like the Escalade, black smoke poured out of its twisted hood. As I neared, I looked all around. I was completely alone. The collision was not even minutes old.

I swallowed and climbed up to the driver’s side door which faced the sky. Below me through the open window a middle-aged man hung motionless in his seatbelt. A collapsed airbag hung from the steering wheel draped over his lower arm.

I shouted, “Can you hear me?” Nothing.

I shouted again. This time he stirred slightly, and he began to claw with his left arm out the open window. I grasped his forearm and implored him to stay still, help was on the way. He moaned. I told him my name, asked him his, and said I would stay there with him until help arrived. With his eyes still closed, he whispered his name, Scott.

I heard a hissing sound behind me and looked over my shoulder. Bystanders had gathered and someone was dousing the engine compartment with a fire extinguisher. I turned back to Scott. The airbag had slipped off his arm, and my heart stopped. I could now see an adolescent girl laying at the bottom of the cab, her head and torso flat against the broken passenger window. She was motionless, was she lifeless?

I climbed down from the truck trying to figure out how to get to her. The back window was intact and its pilot window was shut tight. The front windshield was spiderweb shattered but still clinging tightly around all the edges. I took off my fleece, wrapped it around my hands and pulled at the glass through some fist sized holes. It wouldn’t budge. I FELT SO INCREDIBLY HELPLESS, and I wanted to kick it in but realized that would likely do more harm than good. I climbed back up to Scott to try to keep him still.

He was thrashing again with his free arm, so I held his shoulder, spoke, and asked him about his daughter. He mouthed her name… Savannah. I saw that she had moved, only slightly, her head now clearly tilted upwards as if hearing me, but her eyes were still closed. I exhaled.

After minutes that seemed like hours I heard sirens. I reiterated to Scott that help was almost here. I stopped talking - I wanted so much for him to hear the sirens too.

The first fire truck had just four, maybe five men. They ran hoses to each of the two smashed cars. A single fireman came to the white truck and asked me who was inside. I had expected he would immediately climb up to me, but instead he returned to the fire truck and came back with another crew member setting jack stands against the underside of the white truck. 

He then shouted to yet another fireman to bring a sawzall, a reciprocating saw. He did, and he peeled away the windshield as easily as cutting deli meat. He held and unbuckled the girl, and to my astonishment she slid from his arms and stepped out in a bewildered daze through the open windshield.

The firemen led her several feet away as I followed, and he instructed her to lay down. He asked me to hold her head still while he assessed her. Other than bleeding from her scalp, she said only her back hurt. She told the fireman through her tears that she was eleven and her father was taking her to a softball game. Another fireman brought a backboard. The first fireman instructed me to hold her head aligned with her back, and on my count we’d roll her on her side then gently back onto the board. 

By now several more EMS vehicles had arrived. My participation was done. 

As I walked back to my car a sheriff stopped me to ask if I had seen the collision – Not exactly. Another bystander, describing that they were driving somewhere behind the SUV, said the Escalade had drifted across the centerline and hit the pickup truck head-on. Both vehicles were likely traveling over fifty miles per hour. I continued on to my 4-Runner, sat down, and closed my eyes.

That premonition? A little bit off, but perhaps only by seconds.The real takeaway? Despite all our carefully made plans, none of us has any idea what each day holds.