[ the damage done ]
As I sat on the side of River Rd., staring at a bloodstain masked by bleach and resin, I considered myself almost insensate. As if I were cast in a movie and before me was the set. It was so uncomfortably quiet. A sound track would include the chirping of insects around the still creek, the forced parastalsis of coffee down my vacant esophogus, and the humming of vehicles as they sped by.
And nothing got to me for a while. Not until I asked Eli if he knew the significance of the flourescent orange markings on the pavement. He informed me that each orange bracket pair represented the axel of a vehicle upon impact. They were labeled 1 and 2. Car 1. Car 2. The diagram sprang forward in my mind like 3D Televison as I reinacted the night in my mind over and over again. Trying to coordinate the outlined vehicles with the indention in the railing. And the more I stared at it, the more sanguine the stain on the road became. As if a photographer had oversaturated a photo. My mind manipulated it until it was so dark that I could swear the asphault had rejected what had soaked in and it was running towards me.
More cars passed, and I began to cringe as they drove across the shadow of the accident. I kept thinking to myself, "You're running over her! You assholes!" and it was all I could do to keep from vomiting. As if someone stabbed me in the stomach and each car was a quater turn of the knife. I reflected to all the nights when I flew down River Rd. with JT and Al and Eric to go four-wheeling. I became sick with how lucky I was and continue to be.
I was not sure how Eli was reacting. For the last few minutes, I sat on the railing and concentrated on my feet against the shoulder of the curve. I caught a few glances at him and I couldn't tell if he was just tired and emotionally erroded or tremendously consumed with the images his eyes were transmitting. I assumed a combination of the two but I didn't say much to him. He looked like he wanted to be alone. He passed me the cigarette with a very shaky hand and I accepted it with a smilar tremble.
Across the road I watched the petals wave in the overcast wind on the roses Eli had left there. I looked down near my feet at the third member of the bouquet. I studied its thorns and marveled at the intensity of its pigment. Situations like this seem like a preface for an inspirational Christian writing. Having no faith, I'm left with cold hard facts to deal with. And so many unanswered questions. I don't know where the driver of the first car is. The Newspaper read that he was not cited at the scene. And for what it's worth, I'm not exactly sure where the driver of the second car is either.
Immediately after that thought passed, Eli asked if I was ready to go. Our visit had been about thirty minutes but it felt like hours. I squeezed his hand and walked to his car, trying to enjoy a few sips of coffee along the way. The drive back down River Rd felt cold, heavy, and disenfranchised. The elephant I had been carrying on my chest was replaced by a blue whale and I swear I sank deeper into my seat than I had before. Though the circumstances were accidental and unintentional and by far less horrific, I felt like I had just visited Auschwitz on some square root scale.
At that moment I became scared in thinking of all of those whom I have left with potentially bad last impressions. Mainly I think about Schyler. And even though she hasn't returned any of my phone calls in over a month because she has trust issues with me, and I have similar issues with her, it would still tear me to pieces to lose her. And I wanted to tell her that last night even though our friendship seems as faded and bleached over as the bloodstains on River Road...covered in resin. But as expected, she didn't answer her phone.
Just as important, ifnot moreso, is that as Eli was climbing out of my car to go to work this morning, I finally realized that I don't even realize how much I love him.
And to the pretty girl with glasses, wavy brown hair, and very small shoulders, I won't forget you.
And nothing got to me for a while. Not until I asked Eli if he knew the significance of the flourescent orange markings on the pavement. He informed me that each orange bracket pair represented the axel of a vehicle upon impact. They were labeled 1 and 2. Car 1. Car 2. The diagram sprang forward in my mind like 3D Televison as I reinacted the night in my mind over and over again. Trying to coordinate the outlined vehicles with the indention in the railing. And the more I stared at it, the more sanguine the stain on the road became. As if a photographer had oversaturated a photo. My mind manipulated it until it was so dark that I could swear the asphault had rejected what had soaked in and it was running towards me.
More cars passed, and I began to cringe as they drove across the shadow of the accident. I kept thinking to myself, "You're running over her! You assholes!" and it was all I could do to keep from vomiting. As if someone stabbed me in the stomach and each car was a quater turn of the knife. I reflected to all the nights when I flew down River Rd. with JT and Al and Eric to go four-wheeling. I became sick with how lucky I was and continue to be.
I was not sure how Eli was reacting. For the last few minutes, I sat on the railing and concentrated on my feet against the shoulder of the curve. I caught a few glances at him and I couldn't tell if he was just tired and emotionally erroded or tremendously consumed with the images his eyes were transmitting. I assumed a combination of the two but I didn't say much to him. He looked like he wanted to be alone. He passed me the cigarette with a very shaky hand and I accepted it with a smilar tremble.
Across the road I watched the petals wave in the overcast wind on the roses Eli had left there. I looked down near my feet at the third member of the bouquet. I studied its thorns and marveled at the intensity of its pigment. Situations like this seem like a preface for an inspirational Christian writing. Having no faith, I'm left with cold hard facts to deal with. And so many unanswered questions. I don't know where the driver of the first car is. The Newspaper read that he was not cited at the scene. And for what it's worth, I'm not exactly sure where the driver of the second car is either.
Immediately after that thought passed, Eli asked if I was ready to go. Our visit had been about thirty minutes but it felt like hours. I squeezed his hand and walked to his car, trying to enjoy a few sips of coffee along the way. The drive back down River Rd felt cold, heavy, and disenfranchised. The elephant I had been carrying on my chest was replaced by a blue whale and I swear I sank deeper into my seat than I had before. Though the circumstances were accidental and unintentional and by far less horrific, I felt like I had just visited Auschwitz on some square root scale.
At that moment I became scared in thinking of all of those whom I have left with potentially bad last impressions. Mainly I think about Schyler. And even though she hasn't returned any of my phone calls in over a month because she has trust issues with me, and I have similar issues with her, it would still tear me to pieces to lose her. And I wanted to tell her that last night even though our friendship seems as faded and bleached over as the bloodstains on River Road...covered in resin. But as expected, she didn't answer her phone.
Just as important, ifnot moreso, is that as Eli was climbing out of my car to go to work this morning, I finally realized that I don't even realize how much I love him.
And to the pretty girl with glasses, wavy brown hair, and very small shoulders, I won't forget you.