Gutless - Struck by a Drunk Driver

By Pablo Papas Martinez

Finding a meaningful life takes courage… Paul was a young boy, who enjoyed the southern California desert, where he roamed as a free spirit. He was preparing to play high school baseball before his plans were cut short. A drunk driver stuck him and his cousin nearly head on. The doctor told Paul's parents he wouldn't survive the night, but after two months in traction, Paul returned home. Physically he wasn't the same. Paul struggled to find his place. He tried to form relationships but found his physical limitations hampered his trust in people. It turned worse after a meaningful relationship ended with the words, "You're gutless." Paul sought answers to find courage, love and a meaningful life. As a last resort, he examined his own beliefs to find healing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Papas Media Market
• Release date: Feb 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393661160

Pablo Papas Martinez

Artist and survivor Pablo Papas was born in California and educated at San Bernardino Cal State University. He lived in a small desert city until he moved to Los Angeles. After graduating with a Fine Art degree, he began his career in graphics, which led him to working for corporations and an Advertising agency. Through his professional time as a multimedia, video and interactive creator, he pursued his personal writing endeavors with scripts and short stories. Today Pablo is continuing his fine art through painting, animation and short story films. He regards his transformation into spirituality part of his creative process and hopes to inspire others to find inner peace and creative fulfillment.

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Contents

Preface

1 Let Go, It’s Easy

In the Stars and Sun

Sunday Breakfast

Donut Holes and Fish Eyes

They Roam the Night

Home Court Advantage

Colors of Time

Visiting Hours

Night Crawlers

Cocoon in a Pod

The Deeper It Goes

2 Burn

The question is?

Wake Up!

On the Wrong Side

Homeward from the Bad Land

House of Guilt

Schooled in Traction

Angels in the Clouds

The Golden Light

The Silver God and Bandits Tame the Wolf

3 Walk the Walk

Miles to Go Step by Step

Restoring the Past

Anatomy of Bone to Bolt

A Home Run

Cargo in the Red Locomotive

4 Love Me – Promise Me

Once in a Lifetime

A Princess Adorned in Floral Red

Deeper Feelings

Heart of Diamond

Flying Whales

Tales from the Fortune Teller

Broken Bread

5 Not Man-Enough

Hula Dancer in a Grass Skirt

Wings on the Wall

Shake It Until You Make it

The One Thing

6 Layers of Healing

It’s Not You, It’s Not Me Either

In the Loop In the Loop

In the Face of It

The Woo Woo

A Hard Burn

Layers of Healing – Layers of Love

Theater of Healing

7 Unable to Take Care of a Woman

A Slice of Pie

A Life of Inches

8 The Art of Spirituality – An Inspired Life

Hate, Anger and Fear

It’s the Small Things

Acknowledgements

Preface

From the start I wasn’t writing a book or had the intention of releasing my story to the public. As I began writing, it was a personal endeavor for my eyes only, but along the way the universe had other plans. Always at critical moments I was urged, encouraged and compelled to go to the next step.

It began when Alma was back in my life and I proposed to write letters of my good and bad feelings about our past relationship. Writing my feelings out helped me organize my thoughts and gave me an open road to express all my emotions without interruption or limitation. As Alma read my letters we were able to discuss the letters in an orderly and honest manner. More importantly, I discovered the process of writing to be freeing, it released the baggage I had carried for so long, no longer thinking of the things, I should have said... or wanted to say. Writing had released my thoughts that played over and over in my mind and it liberated me. It felt like I had done a mental cleanse!

Soon after, through social media, a trauma therapist had asked if any of her followers had been through trauma. She asked for written submissions for a project she was developing. Coming off my letters to Alma, I tested myself and wrote two pages of when I first saw my damaged leg in the doctor’s office. I was nervous to send in my short passage. It was the first time I had ever revealed as much about myself to a stranger. I felt my accident had always scared people away so I felt guarded and cautious. It wasn’t a day later when the therapist responded with sympathetic words and encouragement. The passage is almost word for word in this book, and again, the experience of having written out the scene felt like an emotional release.

Following those occurrences, I continued to write for no other reason than to feel better. I wrote ten pages and I thought that would be enough. Then I wrote twenty-five pages and thought it would be enough. The more I wrote the better I felt so I continued. I wrote whatever flowed out from my hands; typing away on weekends what had been brewing in my mind through the week. I jumped around in time in my story, rewriting some scenes, discovering new ones and elaborating on what I thought was finished. It didn’t matter if it made sense or not, I continued to let it write itself. At fifty pages, I told my uncle Manuel I had been writing about my accident.

At the time my uncle was nearly finished with his book, Don’t let me die lieutenant, don’t let me die. My uncle was injured as an infantryman and awarded the Silver Star for his bravery in the Vietnam War. We had been meeting on his book, as my uncle knew I had always been interested in his story. During one such lunch meeting I told my uncle a part of my story. It was the first time I had told a family member what had happened in the accident. I trusted my uncle. I knew he had seen worse in the war. He knew trauma. He had been dealing with it longer than I had, and we shared our feelings about our experiences, and then my uncle said, You should make a book about your story. The seed was planted.

I didn’t take the suggestion too serious, figuring I wouldn’t have a book unless I reached three hundred pages. I had less than a hundred, and besides, my goal was to feel better, not to write a book.

It took several years, tears and rewrites! Did I mention rewrites? After many inquiries by my uncle, I reached the page count but I had yet to tell my parents that I had written my story. In fact, I had never discussed the accident with my mother or father. I had tried once or twice but I always became too emotional. There were just too many bad feelings of guilt, hurt and reluctance to rehash bad times. There were also the things that my parents didn’t know about, the things I felt shameful for, and things that happened in the hospital that they didn’t see and I wasn’t sure if they would want to know. My uncle said they’re my parents, they’ll understand and that they love me, and would support the book.

Until I wrote this book, no one knew the full story of what happened in the accident and I didn’t want anyone to live the accident through my eyes, emotions and physical challenges. How could I put people I loved through this trauma so intimately? This was the hardest aspect of writing my story. How would my family feel now knowing the full impact of the accident?

My cousin Larry, who owned the motorcycle, was like an older brother. We spent a lot of time together until the accident. After the accident, we were able to enjoy each other’s company, but one night, Larry opened up to me to say the accident was his fault. I told him it wasn’t and said, Please don’t think that. I don’t want you to make yourself sick. Unfortunately, he passed not long after; it saddens me knowing he carried the guilt anyway. It wasn’t fair.

Larry was the heart and soul of our extended family and I couldn’t publish this story until I asked Larry’s family for consent. Without hesitation they said Larry would have wanted me to publish this book, especially if it was going to be beneficial. It was the last big clearance to keep going.

Although, I had professional help from editors and support from friends who read my rough manuscript, I was still unsure about releasing my story. I kept looking for excuses to throw the manuscript in a drawer, but I couldn’t find any. Also, as I reconsidered the people who helped me recover and supported me through the years, I began to feel an obligation to see this project to completion. My final thought was that the book might bring purpose to the accident, as a means to possibly help others.

The fog of trauma is a difficult state-of-mind to clear. I imagine it’s even harder for people to understand who never had such a profound trauma event in their own lives. Although, I do believe everyone experiences loss and if my story offers some hope or clarity that life can be meaningful, even under the most challenging of times then my story truly has found it’s meaning.

Lastly but most importantly, it was my family’s, friends’ and strangers’ acts of compassion, support and love that deserved to be told. They manifested this book.

––––––––

With gratitude,

Pablo Papas Martinez

1 Let Go, It’s Easy

In the Stars and Sun

The day was extraordinary. I was captivated by the beauty and wonder of the day. The sky was large, full with rain clouds stretching across the horizon. Beams of light cut through the clouds and blue haze of soft rain like ancient Greek marble pillars, brilliant white from the heavens down to the wet soil; they were majestic monoliths, supporting a crown of purple and golden jewels of glimmering light settled atop a crest of regal clouds. The air was brisk, fresh and invigorating as it might have been when the earth was untouched. I remember the day because it was the last day I ran and splashed through water puddles spotted over the damp desert floor. It was the last day I was a free spirit, a kid at heart, roving across my extended playground, marveling at the vast spectacle around me. It was the last time my spirit soared with limitless hope and excitement of boundless dreams.

On September 12, 1976, the evening was just as memorable. It began like most summer nights with a clear sky full of stars and a slight breeze, but it ended when a drunk-driver struck my cousin Linda and me. The oncoming car hit us nearly head-on while we rode untroubled on a motorcycle. It changed my life.

When the day began routinely, I went outdoors as soon as I finished breakfast, especially on this one particular Saturday morning; in two days I was going to start my sophomore year in Victor Valley High School; I thought about girls, playing sports and being with my friends. I was nervous, motivated and preparing to enter what I thought was going to be a normal stage of young adulthood. The thought of entering high school felt overwhelming, but all my friends, including my best friends I knew since I was seven years old were going to be there. Mostly, I couldn’t wait to see and meet new high school girls and try out for the baseball team. I was fifteen, preparing to become an adult and take on new challenges right after breakfast.

From an early age, I was active in sports, having played organized football, baseball and basketball. In the streets I skateboarded, bicycled and shot guns in the desert, but to earn a high school letterman’s jacket, baseball was going to be my best chance. During the summer, I had started to train to make the competitive team by running across the open fields of Mountain View Acres, where I had lived since the third grade. People said I lived in the boondocks but I knew it for the beauty of tumbleweeds, Joshua trees and soft sand, which made for fun running trails. I wasn’t a fast runner and in order to improve my chances of making the freshman Jackrabbit team, I ran day and night. There was nothing more I wanted than to wear a Jackrabbit green and white uniform, to swing a bat and feel the pop of a baseball slamming into my leather glove. I loved being on the field and playing baseball. On that rainy day, it became exceptional because I felt light, fast and strong, or maybe the day was exceptional because I knew my dreams where going to come true and I relished being a kid at heart.

In the evening, I was at my aunt’s house, as I had spent a lot of time at my relative’s home during the summer months. Larry, my older cousin by five years was more like my older brother. He had two sisters and one younger brother. They lived about a mile up from my house or about a twenty-five minute walking distance. On that September day, as the sun was dropping behind the last of the drifting rain clouds, Larry picked me up in his faded blue 1964 Ford Falcon, as it was going to be our last summer night of cruising. He already had his favorite 8-track tape inserted into his stereo deck as I settled into the front seat. The air smelt fresh as we cruised up and down the same streets we had travelled on nights before, taking our time while feeling the hard beats of the music playing from the car’s speakers. When the sun dipped down, Larry parked in a strip mall parking lot alongside a group of cars and friends he had known since high school. A few of the people said they were looking for a place to party. I recognized Pollard and Donte. Donte always gave me a bad feeling because he was known to indulge in drugs. I suspected he specialized in hard narcotics by the glossy look in his eyes. I stayed away from him. He asked Larry if they could go to his house since it was so far out in the desert; too far out for anyone to call the cops or complain about the noise. Larry said no, but Donte insisted it would just be a few friends. Larry refused again.

Somehow the word had spread around the cruising circle that there was going to be a party at my cousin’s house. Larry once again tried to stop it but cars left the parking lot. Larry rushed to meet them at his house to turn the party seekers away but as cars arrived, the revelers unloaded themselves with cases of beer from their open doors. They immediately turned the volume up on their car stereos; Larry’s words were muted by the music, and very quickly, the few party seekers grew into a crowd of hungry revelers. The tranquil night turned chaotic by the yelling, laughter and drunken voices bouncing off the patio walls, through the yard, into a frenetic mess. I was familiar with most of my cousin’s friends from the summers before and they always treated me well. However, there were people I didn’t know, leaning on their cars, lurking in the shadows; Donte was in among the murkiness of them all. Eventually, they seemed to carefully filter into the house as Larry was still trying to usher everyone to leave. It felt like the time swept by and got late without warning. I was tired and alone, but everyone was energized for one last big house party before school started, and as more people stumbled indoors looking for alcohol, I felt uncomfortable and decided to leave.

I found my cousin’s keys to his motorcycle to return home. I had driven his motorcycle before, often between our houses, never too far or on city streets; it was a medium sized bike built for the street and off road. I remembered I had put fresh sheets on my bed during the day, and I was looking forward to sleeping in my bed. It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time I wheeled the motorcycle out from the garage and rode it home. As I drove up into to my driveway, the outside lights were off which meant my parents were in bed. I parked the motorcycle on the driveway and walked up to my front door. I reached into my pocket and found that I didn’t have my house key to unlock the front door. I raised my hand to knock but I hesitated and decided I didn’t want to wake my parents. They knew I was going to be at my aunt’s house for the night and I would be home early the next morning. I decided to go back to my cousin’s house and wait for the noisy party to end.

When I arrived, the party was just as loud as I had left it. As I walked inside I noticed Linda, Larry’s fourteen-year old sister, sitting at the kitchen table alone. I sat down and asked, Did they wake you up?

Linda replied, Yes. I could see she was irritated, Who are they?

I don’t know. Speaking loudly over the chatter and music, I don’t know all of them.

Why did they come here? So late.

We saw Pollard and Donte in town. They said they wanted to come over. Larry told them not to.

A woman wearing a striped shirt and holding a bag of chips stepped up to the table and asked, Can I put these here?

I shrugged my shoulders, Yeah.

The woman leaning in and almost shouting, Crazy night. You live here?

No, I don’t. looking at Linda, My cousin does.

You do?

Yes. I was asleep. Linda was aggravated by her question.

Yeah, it’s loud. Hi, my name is Teri.

I’m Paul and this is Linda.

You’re not drinking?

No.

No.

Well, if you want some chips have some. I’m going to get a drink. The woman exited through the door.

Linda asked, Who was that?

I don’t know, never seen her before.

A sloppy male walked through the kitchen and bumped into Linda’s chair. He was drunk and continued to stumble through the open door. Linda and I became intolerable by the intrusion of drunken odor and foulness around us.

How long are they going to be here? Linda was rightly aggrieved.

You want to go outside? Go for a ride? I asked.

Yeah, let’s get out of here.

I have the keys. We both needed peace and quiet.

Linda was dressed in her regular jeans and white shirt and as we stepped outside, Linda got on the back of the bike, took hold, and we rode down the single paved road from the house. The straight road was dark and open, with no streetlights or cement curbs lining the streets to disturb the purple shadows pitched along the road. The motorcycle’s headlight skimmed across the rough surface as I made my way down the road taking time to feel the cool breeze against my face.

As we travelled along the open desert fields, we left the noise behind and enjoyed the serene surroundings. When we reached the end of the second block, I took a right and then the first left to go past my house. The lights were still off and as Linda and I continued to ride we reached the elementary school at the dead-end stop on my street. I turned left onto the empty street. At the next corner I turned left again to return straight up to my cousin’s house. I was going no faster than forty miles an hour as we reached a corner with a stop sign. The corner was almost directly behind my house. I knew the corner well; it was known to be a tricky blind spot. A house on the right side of the road had tall thick shrubs, which made it impossible to see any crossing traffic coming from the right. Drivers blinked their lights to warn any crossing cars that another car was approaching the cross street. I inched forward through the stop until I could see that the crossroad was clear before shifting into gear. Once through the intersection, I could see the single road leading back to my cousin’s house less than a half a mile up from the stop sign. The road had a slight bend where it intersected the next block up and I saw a car’s headlights approaching. I shifted gears as I accelerated from the stop sign a few yards behind us. I switched the motorcycle’s high and low beams on and off to warn the oncoming driver of my presence. I saw nothing to forewarn me of any danger coming my way and it didn’t occur to me that the oncoming car might be dangerous.

The car was moving toward us but when it reached the bend in the road it appeared to adjust its direction. I picked up speed from twenty to thirty mph. The car’s lights had reached within twenty yards of us seemingly quick. From the black of night, a shimmering high beam created a tunnel of hazy light. The tunnel caught my eyes as the center of the circular light radiated with soft and blurred edges; it swallowed us both before it fell back against the black of night. In a heartbeat, I was caught within the tunnel – we were sucked into a vacuum of air, elongating a moment into an unrecognizable dimension; distorting space and physical direction. Then, for a second, it all froze like a photo within a hard frame. Then, with incredible speed, my senses sped through me. My head felt as if it had been twisted in a violent release of wind until everything came to a sudden stop. It was a rush of sensations before things fell silent and still, as if I had been transplanted into a soundless and formless physical space. The silence was deafening, refusing any perception or fleeting thoughts wavering near my head. Instantaneously, the tunnel of light went black. Everything went black. Nothing. I floated in silence and darkness, a void of presence. Then unconsciously, the vast darkness began to sparkle with small, distant lights blinking through faint wisps of clouds, drifting through a beautiful field of black expanse. I was dazed.

It was a slow progression, as if I was eased in the earth’s soothing hum. For an elastic moment, I floated in a dream state in placid cool air and it felt peaceful. My head felt light, and in a haze of wonderment I felt my breath return. Then, as though I was waking from a long slumber, my torso grounded itself against a hard cold, surface. In material time, it was only seconds before the humming scaled up into terrifying screams of agony and confusion, piercing my ears and startling me to the horror of the absolute moment. The cries escalated in distress, cutting through the haze until I felt sudden stabs of panic, shaking me with uncontrollable fright. I didn’t know where or who the screams were coming from until I recognized Linda’s voice. The night was serene and still, with darkened houses set along the street and scrappy bushes camouflaging details from my vision, as I frantically scanned the desert floor. Linda was crying out! Her voice was broken, bouncing from all directions from dark cavities. She was calling out that her back was hurt. She couldn’t move. As I laid flat on my back I looked, but through my depth of confusion I couldn’t find her. Her voice reverberated side to side, until it overlapped and drifted up into space. As she continued to call for me, I tried to respond, but I was in bed dreaming. After all, this was a dream, wasn’t it? As I tried to focus, Linda’s voice pierced me again. Its location was elusive under the blanket of thick air now choking my throat shut. I wanted to help her but I couldn’t move or call out as I tried to grasp onto anything real.

Wasn’t it a few moments prior, I was awake feeling the fresh air as it brushed up against my face, with Linda holding securely onto my waist as we rode over the dark, quiet desert road? Or was I still dreaming? I promise the night was tranquil. Our minds were at ease, marveling at the peaceful terrain and vast sky that sprang thoughts of beauty and aspiration. I embraced the night along with Linda, my sister really, my blood. We grew up together, laughed and shared many youthful bonds together. As we rode on the bike, she held on and trusted me, but I lost her. In an instant, she was crying for help, lost among a fathomless depth of chaotic disorder and real or not, I had to react. Only I was stricken with utter fright; Linda was hurt, pained and scared, and her pleas continued to cry out shaking the peaceful night with urgency and desperation. I called out to her. I wanted to get up and find her. It was my responsibility to take care of her. She needed me. I tried to clear my head, to catch my breath and move, but the signals failed meaninglessly. Instead, I was entangled in the endless emptiness around me. I couldn’t stop questioning if this was happening; I just had to shake it off and get up. I had been knocked down, fallen hard, but that was nothing new. I had the air knocked out of me numerous times before. Maybe, I just needed a minute to catch my breath and get up to find Linda.

I willed myself, Get up. Get up. Find Linda. Help her!

As I strained to lift my head, I caught sight of a black car making a U-turn at the blind intersection. It turned around and started coming back toward me. I felt doomed by fate. Certainly, the car would not miss me twice as I laid at the road’s edge. Time lost its axis; it was kinked, it froze, then jumped. The front passenger tire was pointed directly at me. I strained and kept my head up watching, waiting and willing the car to stop. I had a moment before it reached me; as Linda’s voice continued reverberating off the houses, Help! Help! She was in dire need.

The car crept closer. I whispered, Please stop.

The chrome edge on the car’s grill caught the moon’s light and it grew larger as it continued to cut through my disbelief. My moment had passed and I was stuck. I could see the car’s frame and I knew its weight. It was near and I couldn’t breathe. In an honest second, I prepared to die and said a line of prayer, Oh God. The tire inched closer as I dropped my head down on the dirt. I could hear the gravel crunch under the rolling black tire, it cracked and popped, as the rubber pressed on the road. I tried to swallow my screams and hold my pounding heart within my chest. I had never thought about wanting to be brave in death but I didn’t want Linda to become frightened by my screams as the car crushed me. My life didn’t flash before my eyes, nor did I have time to think about my family. As time contorted further, I only felt utter terror. I was watching and was soon to feel the weight of the unforgiving square car. It was going to roll onto my right leg, over my hip and by the time it reached my chest; I had hoped to be gone. As I waited, I held my breath until my last prayer escaped with nearly my last breath, Oh God.

Fortunately, I caught sight of the downed motorcycle lying between the car and myself and I felt hopeful the bike would stop the car. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t take my eyes away, looking over my chest, as the thick black tire, with deep threads, rolled forward, heavy and foreboding. Abruptly, the black car came to a stop over the motorcycle. Before I could gather any relief, the driver seemed to shoot out from his car and started yelling, angrily barking that I hit him as he stepped toward me. I felt threatened and I yelled back, You hit me!

I had to get up and get ready for a fight.

The yelling grew more intense as he yelled, You hit me. He stood on the other side of the motorcycle. He was tense with clenched fists.

No. You hit me! I said with as much anger as I could project from the ground. I felt my head drop on the dirt. I knew once I got up we were going to start throwing fists.

It’s your fault, you hit me, the driver kept yelling down at me.

I had enough and as I lifted my head to glare into his eyes, I saw it. Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed that my broken femur bone was sticking out of my left thigh. When I looked down across my torso, I immediately knew it was bone and comprehended the jagged end of my bleached white femur contrasted against the black sky. It was sharply angled up, protruding five inches through my torn Levis. I stopped arguing with the driver. It became clear why I couldn’t move. Time broke. It bent too fast, and my stomach convulsed with horrible revulsion until my whole body contracted, and I felt my insides pull me inward.

Frightful screams multiplied and grew louder and more desperate. I saw a female passenger jump out of the square car. She started to move towards me but when she heard Linda, she ran into the desert below and to my left, about twenty yards away. I was sure it was where Linda had landed but I couldn’t see her hidden behind the bushes and raised dirt embankment. I let my head fall back on the gravel and saw the stars began to spin like a broken clock, leaving streams of light behind them as they burned across a fathomless black hole.

In the turmoil, people began to arrive from my cousin’s house and gathered near Linda, and as I glanced down at them, I caught sight of my left foot. It was strewn unhinged towards my hip. My shoe was gone and my foot was covered red, as I sadly comprehended I couldn’t feel it. I had thought my foot was positioned down by my right foot, I whispered the words again, Oh God. On what was supposed to be my last fun weekend before school and two blocks from my home, I wished I had woken up my parents minutes before, but instead I was laying on the damp, cold, ragged road, starring at my twisted leg grotesquely broken. Only yards away from my soft, warm bed, I was caught in a surreal landscape of screams, blood and terror. I began to understand what was happening. The realization was sinking in - I was in a horrific nightmare.

With time in flux, I ceded to the side of the road as the drunk driver continued to yell at me for hitting him against the backdrop of horror stricken screams and guttural screeches; I remained alone on the ground for seconds, minutes - I didn’t know. The stars silently twirled and I watch intently, just as the serene night had turned on itself. The news of the accident traveled up to my cousin’s house and more people from the party gathered into small groups huddled over me. They smoked cigarettes and held onto their cans of beer while I tasted and swallowed my blood wet off my tongue. Linda and I had become a spectator’s freak show, a spectacle - the final act for the evening’s entertainment in a circus of horror. The group of spectators stood over my prone body shoulder to shoulder like birds of prey, staring down, appearing to whisper into each other’s ears without a hint of comfort in their cold eyes. Their bodies twisted into each other while their faces were motionless and contorted with mouths agape from blood lust. As I reached up with my hand, I asked for help and cried out that I was hurt. An onlooker took a drink from his beer then blurted out with coldness in his voice, Yeah, you’re messed up.

I looked up over my head and caught his expression, as he flicked his cigarette into the stillness of the night air and land near his feet. He smothered the cigarette butt with his left foot into the dirt and then looked down on me. A look of satisfied self-amusement was revealed through the angular shadows on his face; his posture was hunched and his smile was devilish. The whites of his eyes poked through the heavy darkness cast under his brow and were dead of emotion. Through the dim light I could see vileness in his glare. A sparkle of evil revealed his nature, it was purposeful and directed at me. Three females leaned in tighter and pressed their bosoms into the hunched male figure, and I glimpsed for a second, their dark silhouettes, revealing their true forms against the moonlight. They were a wake of succubus creatures, feeding on misfortune. I felt abandoned and cold, as if the chilled air from his words undermined the warmth from my chest. I lost hope and stopped pleading for help. I returned my focus up at the distant stars drifting through the inescapable sky. The stars were never so beautiful.

Time was bending further still. I was neither waiting nor denying the moment. I knew I was hurt, but I wasn’t caught up in what was about to happen. Above everything else, I was insignificant; a brief breath of life, as I had always been, a small hint of warm air passing onward and over. The last smoldering amber among ashes about to be extinguished by a slight brush of foulness - I held on expecting and waiting for the last push of air to sweep me away. The quiet night was overtaken with urgency and commotion, as I remained motionless and fixated on looking up at the vast heavens. The sky was a dome of sparkles, and without any conscious thought of death or life, my only intention was to remain focused on the magic of the twinkling lights above me. They were never so inspiring as I watched them dance and wink with a divine pulse. I refused to let my last moments of my life be filled with crying, yelling, and certainly not of humiliation by the devilish birds coldly perched over me. At that moment, I was fragile under the moon and stars and it was the most tranquil sense of life I held onto as my warm blood pooled over the cold, damp gravel.

Time remained fractured. Everything was both turbulent blurs and frozen snap shots of silent step-by-step motion frames. I could feel the activity around me rev into a frenzy like a twirling windstorm, yet it was peaceful in the center of the growing chaos. It was a reflection of how I felt internally: a sense of immense panic, distress, and sorrow pulling at me, and yet, there was a calmness that cradled my senses. In the receding parts of my mind, I could hear the echoes of screams of agony and fright while I witnessed the reflection of the celestial lights in the dark puddle increasingly growing under my leg. I felt more activity around me, but I refused to look as the confusion sent shivers through my body every time I swallowed and tasted my blood. As the chaos of people running, standing, and yelling pushed forward and tightened around me, I found a small voice of calm and reassurance that the rest of my short life was going to be peaceful. I held onto it to keep from being swept away, as I marveled at the beautiful stars drifting down closer to my touch. Time floated into long seconds and short minutes, I measured my life with breaths of cold air and held onto to them as the stars descended.

From a corner of the chaos gathered around the accident, a friend of my cousin, Pollard magically appeared, knelt beside me on my right side. I could see fear in his face, but until he arrived I didn’t realize how empty and cold I felt. I also didn’t realize I was trembling until Pollard gave me his hand to steady myself. He was the first one to take my right hand. His touch brought me back from the cold. He could hardly speak until I spoke to him about his pretty girlfriend. I told him she was nice, that I liked her and asked if he planned on marrying her. I believe he went along with the conversation to help me from going into shock. He also kept saying, You’re going to be all right. You’ll be okay. The stars slowly ascended back into the heavens and I found strength through Pollard’s warmth.

Red lights flooded the area when the paramedics arrived, the lights were spinning around, saturating the groups of people standing among the bushes and tumbleweeds. From the corner of my eyes, I could see the details as the desert became hellish; people were lurching, peering, screaming, running and crying in the elongated dark shadows of reds and blacks. I could feel the weight of piercing glares from the vulture spectators above me studying my strength, while they drew heavily on their lit cigarettes and spewed out slithering streams of smoke. The paramedics ran to help Linda first while a CHP officer knelt next to me to ask, Can you tell me what happened?

I stated, He hit me. I flashed my lights but he hit me.

Do you know how far from the edge of the road you were and how fast you were going? The officer was holding a small note pad and pencil.

I think four to five feet. About twenty miles.

The officer referred to his notebook, and asked, Were you drinking tonight?

No.

Again, the officer looked at his notebook before leaning in to tell me, I measured the skid marks and you were four feet and nine inches from the side of the road. The paramedics are going to help you. Okay? The officer stood up and walked away. I didn’t remember applying the brakes. It must have been by reflex.

I looked at Pollard, I thought he was going to give me a ticket for not having a license.

No, he seems cool. Pollard watched the officer walk away. Don’t worry about it. He looks like he’s cool.

When the paramedics came to assist me, they spoke to Pollard while they bent over my leg, I couldn’t hear them. Pollard shook his head and then looked at me. With a slight shake in his voice he said, They’re going to wrap your leg. He then tightened his grip on my hand.

We prepared ourselves for the procedure. I kept my gaze on Pollard and he said, It’s okay. If I had to scream in pain, I knew Pollard was going to stay with me. I could see fear building in his eyes, yet I also felt his warmth and courage and I took a deep breath.

Fortunately, my leg was numb and as the paramedics unfolded my leg, I held onto Pollard’s strength as an air splint squeezed around my leg. The paramedics spoke to Pollard again and he relayed the message. They’re going to take you now. You’ll be okay. I had to let go of Pollard’s hand and I never saw him again, I lost him in the folds of the moment. The paramedics laid me on a wood plank and lifted me onto a gurney. I immediately missed Pollard and I felt cold again. When the paramedics loaded me into their rig, the red lights flashed over the night desert. I caught another glimpse of the hellish scene and knew I had somehow fallen into another world.

The flashing lights continued spinning in all directions, casting long shadows against the terrain and houses along the street. Deep shadows were popping, snapping and fragmenting like flames against themselves, almost as if hot reds and deep purples were dancing in a frenetic ritual; they pranced across the sharp yellow needles of tumbleweeds and pointy branches from the dry bushes in flashing hot colors, like blood demons hopping and skipping in glee. Almost human in form, but distorted, the remaining spectators seemed to hang onto the excitement with raw fervor. Some were crying, a few were yelling and most were grunting from the extraordinary spectacle as if they had achieved orgasm. I believed they relished the smell of blood lingering in the loose dust adrift at their feet. Before the paramedics pushed me through the doors of their rig, a red light landed on the vultures that were hunched over me and I saw the creatures’ hunger. Their faces were seeped in deep reds and stained with black ill. I felt the whites of their eyes and fathomless pupils following and peering through me. They weren’t human. Humans are compassionate, caring and brave. These spectators were foul creatures deformed and broken of humanity in the proximity of opportunistic death.

A paramedic then pushed me in next to Linda who was already in the rig. I went in feet first. Linda was lying head first, and once I was in, we were able to face each other. She was on my