Car Crashes

I saw a car crash today and I thought of you.

It was unreal, surreal, just something that didn’t seem like it was or ever was going to be. I drove past, and there under the bridge on the interstate was a car that looked like it had been put through a trash compactor. There were two police cars, so we had to drive slow by them; drive slow by the WRECK. And I saw, amidst the smoke and the tangled metal, a head sticking out from the windshield. The top of it was gone and there was a clear hole, revealing this person’s brain leftovers. It was still gushing a little bit, there was blood all over the hood of the car; and the police were trying to cover it, but one of them was gagging.

There was another car, but this one wasn’t as bad as the other. There was just a large dent in the side, and no smoke. A woman was standing by the side of the car, and she had her hand covering her mouth like she had just sneezed; except she kept them there. And she was shaking her head over and over again. She didn’t look very much older than I did; maybe she was just out of college and on her way to her new job. I didn’t know, and wasn’t going to ask her; but I could tell that she wasn’t going to take this very well. She wasn’t crying yet, that would come later, but right now her eyes were taking in every bit of this crash; sending images to the places deep down in yourself, anchoring themselves to the bottom, and they’d only float to the surface when you closed your eyes or watch a movie about a car crash. She’d have a husband and kids someday, but never tell them about seeing some man’s (or woman’s) brains being stretched out all over the hood their car.

I drove past, and strangely enough the first reaction I had was to call you. I suppose that would be an awkward conversation:

Hello?

Yes, Sydney?

Yes, who is this?

This is Gordy.

Oh…

…

You there Gordy?

Yeah, I’m here.

Gordy, I haven’t talked to you in six months.

I know.

So why are you calling?

Because I saw a car crash today and I though of you.

That probably wouldn’t go over well.

I used to worry about you, all the time. When we were dating, when I loved you, if I would have seen a car crash back then I would have seen you in the car; and I would have called you to make sure you were okay.

Of course you would have been, it wasn’t even your car in that crash and you were at work.

Even still, I would have called.

Every time I saw a news report about a storm, I would have called. I would have said

Don’t go near any electronics, the T.V., the computer, anything. Okay?

You would have thought I was being over-protective, but deep down you would have found it touching.
However, anymore, I haven’t called you. Even when the tornado warning went on last month, and the newsmen were saying that the winds were moving so fast they could shoot straw through a tree. Even then, I didn’t call you.

Two months ago, I didn’t call you when I heard the stories about a rapist on you’re side of the campus. I didn’t tell you to pick up some pepper-spray and I didn’t tell you to check in with me whenever you went out by yourself. I didn’t call you then.

I told myself it was because I didn’t love you. Not anymore. We have moved on and grown apart. It’s the story of all failed relationships, we knew and were aware of what we had but we never were going to go back. It just wouldn’t have been right.

We knew at one time when we said

I love you.

I love you too.

It wasn’t just talk, it was real. And we knew that when anything happened, we could always be there for each other. There was an unspoken understanding that when we felt terrible we could just sit and BE together, and recharge.

But that was over, that was long ago and over with and we were never going back to that. Another unspoken understanding, a kind of telepathy. When I saw you once at a visit back home, I waved at you but I felt as though I had never seen you before in my life. You were different, foreign, and when you started to walk up to me I turned away and didn’t look back.

I exited the interstate and pulled into a McDonalds parking lot. I turned off my car and stared at my hand. Because it was doing something strange. It had my phone in it and it was calling you. I tried to find that connection I usually had, thought I usually had, with my hand to ask it what it was doing and tell it to stop. But it was not cooperating, instead it was telling me that it had it’s own thing to do and I could promptly fuck off. I was curious as to it’s motives, and continued to look at it. It ignored me and started to scroll towards the address book on the screen. I glared at it; I tried to tell it not to do anything stupid. But it was still ignoring me, and scrolled down.

Past the Jerome.

Past Larry.

Past Nadine and Nikki.

Past Ralph.

Past Samantha.

And stopped right on…Sydney.

It pressed call.

Resisting fell to resignation and understanding, and I could feel my eyes starting to water up.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And then you picked up.

“Hello?” with hesitation and a sprinkle of surprise.

“Hey, Sydney?”

It was strange, a part of me knew this was going to happen I think, knew that I was going to be calling after all. Knew for quite some time, it had been plotting and planning and scheming. It was just waiting for the right moment.

“…Gordy? Is that you? I haven’t spoken to you in six-“

My eyes were wet with fear and relief.

“Sydney I wanted to call to say that I saw a car crash today and that I still love you.”