(no subject)
Alright, I've written the whole thing up, exactly as it happened, as near as I can remember. Maybe now I can stop thinking about it for a little bit.
We were cruising along the largely empty southbound 5 around 2:45, heading home from the midnight showing of Star Wars. Some distance ahead of me, a lane to the right, I see a vehicle that seems to be moving fairly slowly, judging by how quickly I am gaining on them. At the same time, a little white car zips past me in the same lane as the slower mover, going fast. I watch the white car catch up to the other car, expecting to see brake lights, or lane changing, or something, but suddenly there's a loud crunching noise and the tow cars and screeching and spinning and I'm slamming on the brakes and so is everyone else on the road and I my heart is bounding. The white car is spun to the left side of the freeway, trunk resting against the median and crumpled nose sticking out into the fast lane. The pickup truck, which I am now right behind, limps to the right side of the freeway and stops on teh shoulder. I pull over and stop behind it. I'm shaking, I can't quite decide what to do. Do I get out of the car? Do I just sit in it? Do I just pull off and drive away, seeing as how I wasn't hit or anything? I can't bring myself to just flee like that. Josh tells me that I did well, that I handled it well, that we're safe and he's calling 911.
The driver of the pickup gets out of his truck. He looks shaken, but unharmed. The back of his truck is a mess-metal and plastic everywhere, the rear window of the cab is completely shattered. I notice that another car has pulled off, ahead of the pickup. I learn later that the pickup had rear ended that car after being hit himself, but it doesn't seem serious. A young black guy and his girlfriend get out of that car and come to make sure everythings okay. Josh is on hold with 911. The pickup truck guy is bleeding on the back of his neck, probably from the shattered glass of the windshield that must have fallen on him. We tell him that we're calling 911. He indicates that he can't speak English. The black guy and his girlfriend go back to their car. We get out of the car to see what's going on with the white car, the one that started it all. The driver appears to be moving-she's still inside the car, and it's hard to see. It's very dark and there are no lights on this strech of the freeway.
Josh finally gets through to 911 and they say that a response team is already on the way, someone else has called it in already. There is still traffic hurtling by at high speeds-they have no idea that there's been an accident. Particularly disturbing is the fact that the whtie car is partially in the fast lane, with no lights on. No one can see it, and people are swerving around it somewhat wildly. The traffic kicks up tons of debris from the crash. Plastic and glass are flying through the air. We see that the person in the white car, a woman, has gotten out and is walking around. We decide to get back in the car to avoid all the debris being thrown around. We start to relax. Everyone is okay, help is on the way.
All of a sudden, a car comes zooming down the road, doesn't see the white car in time and slams into it. This new car, a silvery color, spins out across the road, heading towards the shoulder where all the rest of us are parked. I see the black guy and his girl friend running down the shoulder, away from us, as the silver car crashes into the right hand median. I insist to Josh that we get out of the car. The next person to hit the white car, which is still partially in the fast lane, could be spun into our section of shoulder. We perch on the high white median that separates the freeway from a hill sloping down towards some buildings. The hill slopes quickly and the distance would be far to jump from the barrier, but I tell Josh that I'd rather jump and break a leg in the bushes than get crushed against the stone barrier by a car. He agrees. We sit on the median, tense and dazed. The traffic continues to pass by. We hear sirens, but the police haven't quite arrived. The guy from the silvery car gets out, in shock, one of his hands bleeding heavily. He stumbles around a bit, then gets back in his car.
I realize that I haven't seen the woman in the car since the second accident. I ask Josh. He hasn't seen her either. We're not sure whether she got back in the car or wandered off down the road or what. The police arrive then, a half dozen squad cars finally block the oncoming traffic and their headlights reveal that the woman in the white car has been lying crumpled in the middle lane of the freeway ever since the last accident. Her body is splayed out, one of the legs clearly at the wrong angle. She is swiftly surround by police officers and they begin medical treatment. I can't watch. I'm sure she's dead. In addition to whatever impact threw her into the road, she must have been run over by at least one or more other cars as traffic continued to pass. I feel sick to my stomach, thinking of the fact that she was lying there in the road while we sat on the barrier. I know there's nothing we could have done to help her, aside from possibly getting hurt ourselves trying to get to her, or hurting her more by trying to move her. But it still makes me feel ill. An ambulance arrives and they load her in. She's still breathing, but she's in bad shape. The police start treating the other people who were involved in the collisions. Josh and I get off our perches, now that traffic is stopped. We hold each other fiercely, desparately.
The guy from the silver car, whose hand was hurt, is given medical attention on the hood of our car. Everyone else seems okay. The police start taking statements. One of the police speaks Spanish, so he can communicate with the pickup truck driver. I get out pen and paper and write a statement. We're among teh last people that get talked to, since we weren't actually hit, but we saw everything. The police officer goes over the statement with me and asks some clarifying questions. He says that the woman will probably make it. It seems that she was drunk-her BCA was very high. After that, things slow down and get blurry. We sit on the side of the road for a long time. More ambulances come, for the less critically injured. Tow trucks arrive. People take photographs of everything. They question us about the fact that our car's front grille is broken and that there's blood on the bumper. The grille was broken long ago, and we realize and explain that the blood is from the guy with the cut hand. They take a picture of it anyway. Street sweepers and policemen with brooms attempt to clean up the glass and other debris. Finally, about and hour and a half after the accident, we are allowed to leave. I exit at the next freway off ramp and we take surface streets home. I feel as if I've been in an accident and gotten whiplash, even though I haven't. My hands are shaking. My neck and back hurt and everything is tense. We make it home, post in our live journals, hold each other some more, and crawl into bed. Eventually, a deep and intense sleep over takes us.
We were cruising along the largely empty southbound 5 around 2:45, heading home from the midnight showing of Star Wars. Some distance ahead of me, a lane to the right, I see a vehicle that seems to be moving fairly slowly, judging by how quickly I am gaining on them. At the same time, a little white car zips past me in the same lane as the slower mover, going fast. I watch the white car catch up to the other car, expecting to see brake lights, or lane changing, or something, but suddenly there's a loud crunching noise and the tow cars and screeching and spinning and I'm slamming on the brakes and so is everyone else on the road and I my heart is bounding. The white car is spun to the left side of the freeway, trunk resting against the median and crumpled nose sticking out into the fast lane. The pickup truck, which I am now right behind, limps to the right side of the freeway and stops on teh shoulder. I pull over and stop behind it. I'm shaking, I can't quite decide what to do. Do I get out of the car? Do I just sit in it? Do I just pull off and drive away, seeing as how I wasn't hit or anything? I can't bring myself to just flee like that. Josh tells me that I did well, that I handled it well, that we're safe and he's calling 911.
The driver of the pickup gets out of his truck. He looks shaken, but unharmed. The back of his truck is a mess-metal and plastic everywhere, the rear window of the cab is completely shattered. I notice that another car has pulled off, ahead of the pickup. I learn later that the pickup had rear ended that car after being hit himself, but it doesn't seem serious. A young black guy and his girlfriend get out of that car and come to make sure everythings okay. Josh is on hold with 911. The pickup truck guy is bleeding on the back of his neck, probably from the shattered glass of the windshield that must have fallen on him. We tell him that we're calling 911. He indicates that he can't speak English. The black guy and his girlfriend go back to their car. We get out of the car to see what's going on with the white car, the one that started it all. The driver appears to be moving-she's still inside the car, and it's hard to see. It's very dark and there are no lights on this strech of the freeway.
Josh finally gets through to 911 and they say that a response team is already on the way, someone else has called it in already. There is still traffic hurtling by at high speeds-they have no idea that there's been an accident. Particularly disturbing is the fact that the whtie car is partially in the fast lane, with no lights on. No one can see it, and people are swerving around it somewhat wildly. The traffic kicks up tons of debris from the crash. Plastic and glass are flying through the air. We see that the person in the white car, a woman, has gotten out and is walking around. We decide to get back in the car to avoid all the debris being thrown around. We start to relax. Everyone is okay, help is on the way.
All of a sudden, a car comes zooming down the road, doesn't see the white car in time and slams into it. This new car, a silvery color, spins out across the road, heading towards the shoulder where all the rest of us are parked. I see the black guy and his girl friend running down the shoulder, away from us, as the silver car crashes into the right hand median. I insist to Josh that we get out of the car. The next person to hit the white car, which is still partially in the fast lane, could be spun into our section of shoulder. We perch on the high white median that separates the freeway from a hill sloping down towards some buildings. The hill slopes quickly and the distance would be far to jump from the barrier, but I tell Josh that I'd rather jump and break a leg in the bushes than get crushed against the stone barrier by a car. He agrees. We sit on the median, tense and dazed. The traffic continues to pass by. We hear sirens, but the police haven't quite arrived. The guy from the silvery car gets out, in shock, one of his hands bleeding heavily. He stumbles around a bit, then gets back in his car.
I realize that I haven't seen the woman in the car since the second accident. I ask Josh. He hasn't seen her either. We're not sure whether she got back in the car or wandered off down the road or what. The police arrive then, a half dozen squad cars finally block the oncoming traffic and their headlights reveal that the woman in the white car has been lying crumpled in the middle lane of the freeway ever since the last accident. Her body is splayed out, one of the legs clearly at the wrong angle. She is swiftly surround by police officers and they begin medical treatment. I can't watch. I'm sure she's dead. In addition to whatever impact threw her into the road, she must have been run over by at least one or more other cars as traffic continued to pass. I feel sick to my stomach, thinking of the fact that she was lying there in the road while we sat on the barrier. I know there's nothing we could have done to help her, aside from possibly getting hurt ourselves trying to get to her, or hurting her more by trying to move her. But it still makes me feel ill. An ambulance arrives and they load her in. She's still breathing, but she's in bad shape. The police start treating the other people who were involved in the collisions. Josh and I get off our perches, now that traffic is stopped. We hold each other fiercely, desparately.
The guy from the silver car, whose hand was hurt, is given medical attention on the hood of our car. Everyone else seems okay. The police start taking statements. One of the police speaks Spanish, so he can communicate with the pickup truck driver. I get out pen and paper and write a statement. We're among teh last people that get talked to, since we weren't actually hit, but we saw everything. The police officer goes over the statement with me and asks some clarifying questions. He says that the woman will probably make it. It seems that she was drunk-her BCA was very high. After that, things slow down and get blurry. We sit on the side of the road for a long time. More ambulances come, for the less critically injured. Tow trucks arrive. People take photographs of everything. They question us about the fact that our car's front grille is broken and that there's blood on the bumper. The grille was broken long ago, and we realize and explain that the blood is from the guy with the cut hand. They take a picture of it anyway. Street sweepers and policemen with brooms attempt to clean up the glass and other debris. Finally, about and hour and a half after the accident, we are allowed to leave. I exit at the next freway off ramp and we take surface streets home. I feel as if I've been in an accident and gotten whiplash, even though I haven't. My hands are shaking. My neck and back hurt and everything is tense. We make it home, post in our live journals, hold each other some more, and crawl into bed. Eventually, a deep and intense sleep over takes us.