Mortis

9.

Finding out about John's malignant tumor was more shocking than anything else. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't angry. I was just in shock, completely speechless. It was the silent storm that came and choked you before the screaming. It reminded me of a car accident Julie and I got into when I was in the seventh grade. It didn't remind me of the actual accident, it reminded me of a specific moment within the confines of the terrifying experience.

Julie drove a bright red Mini Cooper at the time, with white stripes, extremely tinted windows and sweet rims. I used to love riding in the passenger side as the tiny car zipped in and out of traffic like a toy car. Julie drove quickly but skillfully, never afraid of anything. I remember U2's "I Will Follow" was coming out of the Harmon Karden speakers that night, blaring loudly into the starless sky of Loray.

We were on Salzedo Street, heading towards my school for a Christmas play that started at seven PM. I remember that John was in the play and was pretty ticked off that I was running late. He played a reindeer, one of the ones that go by "Reindeer 1" or "Reindeer 2." Julie was on the phone, arguing with someone, yelling and bitching about this and that. As we crossed the intersection between Salzedo Street and Malcom Avenue, it all happened in the blink of an eye−or so it felt. It's crazy to think we were only two blocks away from our destination.

I remember shouting "Julie!" in the millisecond before a large white car turned left just before we crossed the intersection. Everything happened so quickly, it was as if my mind slowed it down for viewing purposes. As if my mind could control the speed of time, the milliseconds before the sound of crunching metal and the release of airbags.

Julie's arms rose up to protect her face as our car smashed, head on, into the side of the other car. I remember twisting my face towards Julie, not having time to be afraid, and raising my hands to my face. The seatbelt pressed against my chest as momentum pushed my body towards the dashboard, later leaving me with a seriously bruised sternum that took weeks to heal.

I recall the feeling of the airbag hitting the side of my face as if I was being slapped by a large hand. It stung my right cheek as I closed my eyes in defense, as if this gesture could save me. What you don't know−or in this case see−doesn't hurt you, right?

The collision was loud, horns honked and metal crunched and rubbed against metal. Tires screeched as Bono continued to sing...If you walkaway, walkaway I walkaway. Walkaway...I will follow!

We were going more than fifty miles per hour and smashed into a large car, the front of the Mini Cooper was completely smashed inward, coming towards us and squishing our knees like closing accordions.

The moment that reminded me of my current reaction to John's condition occurred soon after the moment I opened my eyes, after the two cars were no longer colliding and smashing. Your instincts of survival kick in, panic swooping in and getting those muscles and blood flow moving.

Breathing was painful as I choked on the powder from the airbags. It was hot in my esophagus, rubbing it raw with every gasp for breath. I remember the fear I felt when I saw that Julie and I were encapsulated in smoke, I couldn't even see her at my side. Everything was smoky and I knew I had to get out or I was going to suffocate in this tomb of smoke and airbag powder. I now look back and feel guilty for not worrying about Julie as I unbuckled my own seatbelt and tried to open the jammed door. I pushed against it with my shoulder, slamming into it until it swung open and I nearly ate the street's asphalt.

This was it, the moment of shock I was referring to. As I crawled out of the car on all fours, coughing my lungs out, gasping for air as blood dripped down my face, I scrambled to my feet and was now by the trunk of the car. The moment I was away from the danger and the smashed Mini Cooper I'd grown to love, as if it had feelings, it hit me. It was the moment before the scream, before the tears and after-fear. As I looked at the intersection all I could see were head-lights and our smashed car, the potential death I had survived, the quick instant that could've killed me if I wasn't wearing my seat belt.