Accidents on West Blvd.
There was another accident on my street. It’s the sixth one I’ve seen. Most of the time, it’s a car trying to cheat its way into the intersection. “I can beat them,” they say. The first accident I saw was an elderly woman being driven by her son, who hit the car because he hesitated on the left turn. The trunk opened on impact and their groceries littered the street. I brought out some water and folding chairs. I sat with her as the other two men exchanged information. She smiled at me, and said, “You're kind.”
The two cars had to be cut apart in another accident. The fire department used sledgehammers and saws, and the officer on duty just took names and information, and acted casually. He must see this all the time, and to an extent, he must get accustomed to all this peril. One man had a cut on his head from the airbag collision, while the other man had to be cut from his car. I know they compare it to cutting a tin can, but you can’t really understand it until you see it. He was carried off in a gurney. Some workers powdered the asphalt—it reminded me of janitors who sprinkled pink dust over new vomit. Another group started sweeping the debris. It took them an hour to cleanse the corner.
Yesterday, it was a motorcyclist. He collided into a car, and left an imprint on the front corner panel. I’m not sure what made the imprint—I try to believe it was from his motorcycle not his body. I called 911 and the operator asked, “Do you think he needs an ambulance, and I didn’t know what to say to her. “He was on a motorcycle,” I said again. “I’ll send one,” she said.
I thought of Stephen on his way home and dying on his motorcycle, a few hundred feet away from his house. And then his dad driving by the accident and slowing down because he recognized his son’s helmet. Ben said, “I’ll go to the hospital and see if he’s all right, no use in all of us being there.” He came back and said, “He’s dead.” His tone wasn’t callous or casual; it was a tone that a man uses when he is still trying convince himself of the fact.
The two cars had to be cut apart in another accident. The fire department used sledgehammers and saws, and the officer on duty just took names and information, and acted casually. He must see this all the time, and to an extent, he must get accustomed to all this peril. One man had a cut on his head from the airbag collision, while the other man had to be cut from his car. I know they compare it to cutting a tin can, but you can’t really understand it until you see it. He was carried off in a gurney. Some workers powdered the asphalt—it reminded me of janitors who sprinkled pink dust over new vomit. Another group started sweeping the debris. It took them an hour to cleanse the corner.
Yesterday, it was a motorcyclist. He collided into a car, and left an imprint on the front corner panel. I’m not sure what made the imprint—I try to believe it was from his motorcycle not his body. I called 911 and the operator asked, “Do you think he needs an ambulance, and I didn’t know what to say to her. “He was on a motorcycle,” I said again. “I’ll send one,” she said.
I thought of Stephen on his way home and dying on his motorcycle, a few hundred feet away from his house. And then his dad driving by the accident and slowing down because he recognized his son’s helmet. Ben said, “I’ll go to the hospital and see if he’s all right, no use in all of us being there.” He came back and said, “He’s dead.” His tone wasn’t callous or casual; it was a tone that a man uses when he is still trying convince himself of the fact.
This entry was posted
on Friday, April 29 at 12:17 AM.
You can skip to the end and leave a response.
3:29 PMWhen the lady said, "your kind." Did she mean 'your' as in the possessive form of the second personal pronoun or 'you're' the contraction for 'you are'.
And if she meant 'your kind', which I am assuming as an English major would never make such a mistake, did she mean Asians?
One normally only hears the term, 'your kind' when they are refering to that kind in a derogatory mannor.
Knowing you, how did you respond to such a retort? I am assuming that you put her in her place with a quick verbal display of your wit.
» Post a Comment