To a Crawl

I can see the other car swerving into our lane, right towards us. Mike’s hands start to move the wheel, to try to swerve out of the way. I’ve always heard that everything slows down right before you die, to let your whole life flash before your eyes. So, as the car begins to actually hit us, I’m not particularly surprised. The world seems to me to slow to a crawl. Everyone in the car is panicking along with me, though they’re moving slowly to my eyes. I look around to try to figure out a way to survive, though my darkest suspicion is that I won’t be able to. Otherwise, why is everything moving so slowly?

Beside me, Ally starts to scream. Slowly and distorted, but still very clearly scared. She’s trying to get Mike to do something. She doesn’t think it’s too late. She can’t see that the pair of vehicles are already in contact and crumpling. In the passenger’s seat, Will is starting to clench onto whatever he can. He’s found his grip onto the door’s siding and the cup of coffee in the central console. I’m not sure, but I think he’s too focused to realize the cup isn’t actually connected to the car. Mike is instinctively flaring out his elbows. This isn’t the first car crash he’s been in, and he doesn’t want the airbag breaking his arm like last time. Through the windshield, I can see the abject terror in the eyes of the poor, disheveled kid driving the other car. He’s probably just much too tired to be driving. And we are going to be the unfortunate victims of his youthful misjudgement.

The crash continues to unfold at a snail’s pace around me. And, oddly, I don’t see my life flash before me. That, plus the slow pace of the world, makes me start to think that perhaps we will make it through this alright. With things moving so sluggishly, it is pretty easy to avoid most of the biggest dangers of the initial crash. I get into a bit of a groove as time continues to creep by. The world starts to move a little faster. Doesn’t mean I can’t move around and avoid the flying objects. Just means I need to readjust my groove.

It’s like a weird little dance to an inaudible beat, and I do love me a little dance or two every now and then. I even start to enjoy myself and relax some as I weave between the bags and glass shards whipping in slow motion around the back seat of the car. Time speeds up to what is stereotypically considered slow motion speed as I bob and weave in a groove. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that relaxing, that grooving, is my downfall. I forget in the moment something crucial. We have our backpacks in the trunk. A trunk that’s accessible over the back seat.

While I do manage to make it through most of the crash unscathed, and by this point there aren’t many projectiles left in the car, time continues to speed up slightly. And suddenly, I feel a heavy, painful thud on the back of my head. Then, nothing. For I don’t know how long.

I come to in the field beside the crash. Emergency services are here. Clearly someone managed to call it in. The kid in the other car is gone. Mike and Ally look real bad, bruised and unconscious with blood splats peppering their clothes. Will, at least, is conscious. His arm and flank are extremely torn up, but it seems he got lucky enough not to get knocked out by one of the many things we’d stored poorly in the car.

“What happened?” I get out to Will as I sit up. I look down at myself. My clothes aren’t in great shape, but it seems like I got out of a serious head-on collision with about the same level of injury as falling off a bicycle. With some mildly scraped skin and newly tattered jeans.

Will groans as he turns to talk to me. “Some kid swerved into our lane and…” Rather than finish his statement, he just sort of gestures around us. “You seem to have gotten lucky,” he adds politely.

I stand up. Suddenly, everything feels really weird. I feel lightheaded and nauseous at the same time. I do not like that. “Not sure. I think I’ve got a concussion,” I tell him.

He lifts up his left arm, wincing. “Tell that to my armpit,” he jokes.

I chuckle. The first responder who had been helping me back when I was out rushes back over to me as I walk. “Careful, ma’am,” he says with a polite smile, “You really should stay seated and wait for the EMTs to get here.”

Will laughs at that. “Good luck getting her to do that, bro,” he tells the responder.

I wave Will off. “Listen. I’m mostly fine, at worst I’ve got a mild concussion. They’re going to have me stay the night, then tell me to rest and avoid physical activity. I can do that for myself at the townhouse. Mike and Ally are the ones who actually need treatment.” Then, with the slightest hint of a smile. “Besides, I definitely can’t afford an ambulance ride.” I head over to Will, ignoring the helpful and kind first responder and letting him get back to working on our unconscious friends. “You good Will?”

“Should be,” he says, “I’m gonna ride with Mike and then swing by outpatient to get some gauze and whatever else they do on this.” He gestures towards his torn side. “You mind doing the same with Ally so you can swing by the Pharmacy on the way back to the house?”

I nod in reply. “Was planning on it anyway. Gives me time to recover, and the hospital’s closer to home than we are now. Just bandages?”

“I think we’re good on everything else,” he says, brow furrowed. We hear sirens. “Did your phone survive?”

I check my rear pocket. Sure enough, it’s there. And still functional. Mostly. There’s now a large crack from one upper corner across to the central area of the other side, but I can work around that for a while. “Should work fine enough. Text me if you think of anything else?” I offer the logical followup to his question as a pair of ambulances arrive.

Will nods and heads over to Mike’s side. I head to Ally’s. The EMTs go through what I assume are their usual procedures for unconscious patients, then take them into the ambulances. Will and I follow our respective stretchers, watching over everything. Not that we need to, but it felt better keeping an eye on our friends. After we arrive at the hospital and they rush her into it, I take a deep breath and go to the ER reception desk. “Is there anything I need to do for Ally, or can I go?” I ask. I realize after I’ve spoken it seems more dismissive than it should. “Sorry,” I quickly add, “I just really don’t like hospitals.”

The kind administrator behind the desk simply chuckled a little. “It’s fine. As long as you’re not yelling at me about things I can’t control, I do my best not to judge. And we’ve already got a file for Alexandra Underwood on file, so unless anything has changed, we should be fine.”

I sigh deeply and breathe slowly. “Thank goodness. Okay, if anything changes, my number should be one of her emergency contacts, so let me know and I’ll be here as quickly as I can. Otherwise, I’m headed home.” Looking over, I see Will walking over to the free clinic across the parking lot. Pulling out my phone, I don’t see any texts. He hasn’t thought of anything yet. I give the polite receptionist a pleasant smile and nod, then head out and start the walk home.

As I walk, I start to feel it. The stress of the day makes this two mile walk more of a workout than it usually is. More than I’d prefer it to be. And it doesn’t help matters that everyone seems to be going about their evenings at a frustratingly slow pace. By the time I make it to our corner pharmacy, I can feel my heartbeat. As though it wants me to calm down and relax, the automatic doors on the outside of the pharmacy’s building take a bit to actually open. I walk in and head right over to the bandages section. I pull out my phone. Will did text me while I was en route. ‘I think we’re out of peroxide’ it reads. Because of course we are. I grab the biggest pack of bandages on the shelf, head two aisles down to grab the most affordable per ounce bottle of peroxide available, then head to the counter.

The guy at the counter must be stoned, given how slowly he goes about ringing me up. “Friend get hurt or something?” he asks languidly. He’s taking so long, though at least my heartbeat isn’t pounding at my ears anymore.

I give this dude the least judgemental look I can muster, in case he’s going to be a permanent fixture around here. It’s still a little judgemental. “Something like that,” I say with a smile as I hand him my credit card.

“Cool, cool,” he replies at a bit more reasonable pace, though not quickly. “Hopefully the rest of your day is better.” He hands me back my card. I nod as I take it and the bag, then head out of the store. At least on my way out the automatic door took a more reasonable amount of time.

I walk over to our small townhouse in the middle of a block full of townhouses. The pharmacy, while I don’t go there often, is only a couple blocks away. People seem to have decided to go about their routines at a normal pace once more. Good, if a little late. I nonverbally greet one of our neighbors one house down, who’s drinking on their balcony. She waves politely back. We go out drinking sometimes, but only as a group and I think that’s mostly because she’s attracted to Mike. Oh well. Heading down the stairs to the lower level of our townhouse, I pull out my keys and unlock the screen door, then opening it I unlock the main door with a different key on my keyring. One can never be too careful. Letting myself in and locking back up, I head to the kitchen and place the peroxide and bandages out of the bag, in clear view of Will when he returns.

Then, I get to making myself some food. It’s been a long day and, especially since I might have suffered a concussion, I need to rest. So I just take one of our emergency Microwaveable TV meals out of the box and, after ripping off the plastic, shove that baby in the microwave. No work, no thought, just open it up, punch in the numbers, press start, and sprawl out onto the couch as I wait. The microwave pings, I grab the container of food and head up the stairs to my room on the third floor. Because if all I’m doing is eating and resting, I’m damn sure going to be doing them both in bed.

The meal is about as terrible as I expected it to be, but it serves its purpose of making me no longer hungry. About halfway through it, my relaxation is briefly interrupted by Will’s return home, though that’s just a door opening and Will hollering loudly, “Don’t shoot, it’s me,” so I wouldn’t think we were being robbed. Once I finish my food, I walk over to my computer, move the monitor over to beside my bed, and turn on a truly terrible old show. I’ve already seen it, but I enjoy watching it and it ran for long enough that I can start the first episode now and it will still be on tomorrow when I wake up. And since I’ve seen it before, missing a chunk of episodes doesn’t really matter; I know what happens in them already.