April 8, 2007, 2:38 a.m. I don't know what it was that sent the slight sense of foreboding from my subconscious to my conscious mind. The illease that lingered as I tried to shake off that sense made me reach over and reassure myself that AC's seatbelt was securely fastened. My eyes would not stop scanning the quickly filling lanes of the west-bound traffic on the 10 Freeway. A phrase from Red Asphalt, a film that was played in my high school Driver's Safety class, repeated doggedly in my mind. "The witching hour." The so-called "witching hour" is marked by the stumbling gait of patrons who have passed through the closing doors of their favorite bar or nightclub. Other familiars of this wickedest of witches are blurred vision, slow reaction times, and the inability to make sound decisions. Unfortunately, many of these crab-walking patrons will make the decision that they can drive a car far better than they can walk. 2:41 a.m. The gray shapes emerging in my field of vision blot out the reflected light marking out the lanes on the freeway. White headlights aren't supposed to be pointed directly at me. As I slow my car nearly to a halt, I reach up and tap the button that turns on my hazard lights. Angling my car towards the divider that separates the faster lanes of the freeway from the Koreatown exits, I attempt to alert and divert the drivers behind me. The shards of broken glass crunch as they're powdered underneath the weight of tires of my car. I had already passed the Sentra that was pointed north in the westbound lanes of the freeway. The occupant of the spun-out and overturned Saturn was in need of more immediate help. I quickly check my rearview mirrors to be sure that it was safe as I opened my door and walked outside. The driver of the overturned Saturn emerged from the back window of her vehicle as I ran up and asked if she was okay. Shaking and sobbing she replied to my question, "I'm fine. But just look at my car." Miraculously, this 20-something y.o. girl was completely unscathed though she obviously had to crawl over shattered windshield to escape from the vehicle. Not a scratch on her hands, nor a complaint of any pain. Obviously dazed and disoriented, she started wandering back towards her car and into the middle of the freeway. Telling her not to worry about her car, I quickly brought her over to the shoulder and away from any immediate danger. In the meanwhile, the driver of the Sentra pulled her car up behind mine. Apologizing in Spanish-accented English, she approached us shedding tears of her own. AC and I tried to comfort them both while we waited for the CHP to respond to our cell phone call. I positioned our group so that my car was about 20 away from us, between our soft human bodies and the oncoming rush of steel, high-impact plastic, and vulcanized rubber. 2:44 a.m. The distinct wailing of tires losing traction due to a heavy foot on the brakes is never a sound you want to hear coming towards you. Worse yet is the sight of spinning cars and smoking tires coming towards you. The sight and sound of an impact right past you comes as a guilty relief. Now I started shaking. I LIKE being alive. In fact, I down right LOVE being alive. Perhaps it's a part of the human condition to forget how strongly we cling to life until we're faced with a situation that reminds us of our mortality. The unmistakable smell of alcohol on the breaths of both drivers involved in the accident reminded me of how often I've forgotten my own mortality and have gotten behind the wheel under the influence. Seeing so many poor drivers on the freeway all at once made me wonder if AC and I were the only people on the freeway that did not have anything to drink that night. Were we the only two people among a freeway full of drivers that had any business being behind a wheel? My two new favorite words: TAXI CAB. If you're going to drive to where you are drinking, please let that drive be from the liquor store to your home. I know that seems a double-tongued statement coming from dipso like me, but my eyes were opened tonight. I don't want to die and I don't want you to kill me. That is an epiphany. Happy Easter. |