Accidental

“Stay in the car,” he tells me as he slams the Suburban into park on the shoulder.

Moments ago we had come around the curve at the top of the world. Moments before that we had lost sight of Mom’s little black car that had been racing us home ever since we left the restaurant.

He doesn’t look over, not once, before he jumps out of the driver’s side door and slams it shut behind him. He races to where Mom’s little black car is tangled up with another. Fluids spill out onto the highway; smoke rises into the air. He darts from one broken window to the next, one hand dialing 9-1-1. The other yanking on the passenger door that is facing the wrong direction.

“Baby? Can you hear me?” he calls out.

I reach for my own passenger door handle. Pull it gently and lean into it, letting in a gust of dusk and dust. My eyes blur his movements, like I am – all at once – caught both in a timelapse and in slow motion. My feet glide over the gravel on the road’s shoulder. I pass the driver’s door of the other car. I think it was a Jeep. I know I’m seeing red.

My dad yanks on the handle of the passenger door, the one facing the wrong direction. I make my way over to the driver’s side. Mom’s face shines with the light of oncoming traffic, cars that are headed the same way that would lead us home. I reach through the busted space where the window once was and push the hair back from her eyes. She looks straight into mine. A small smile cracks her lips. Her brow winces with the move.

From the other side of the car, I know Dad sees me. I hear him give a report of the scene to the person on the phone.

I hear him but I do not listen. I reach into the where Mom’s fingers still hold the wheel and I release her grip, lacing my hand with hers. And I don’t know what makes me, but I sing. In the same broken head voice that she used to use to lull me to sleep, I sing her playlist, the one I know by heart.

Lights fill the darkening sky. Sirens drown out my words. Her eyes get heavy. Dad finally gets the door open. He climbs inside and cradles Mom’s head in his hand. And there we wait. Together.

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Why is it that when I round the corner at the top of the world, with the Suburban trailing safely behind I envision such a mess? Not only do I see myself tangling this little black car up with another or even the guard rail for that matter, but I see him race to get me out, see her steps come softly forward. See her hold my heart even as she holds my hand.

Lord, I hope I never have to see the lights that fill the darkened sky. Never have to hear the sirens drown out her words. Never have to see my rescue reflected in her eyes.

Why does my mind torture me so?