Small Comforts

A decision is such a simple thing, a simple choice; a or b, yes or no. Even the acts of indecision, or refusing to choose, are, in themselves choices. Sometimes the decisions we make aren’t consciously made, but rather pure instinct, guided by the invisible strings and hands of some unseen puppet master; the hand and strings that guide us, subverting our free will.

I was running late for work that day, though not by much. I had been late for work quite often the past few weeks and I knew that even though I was a valuable employee, I was close to crossing the line with my tardiness. I had thought that I could make up the time by driving like a maniac; once on the road, it was nothing more than a straight shot to the top of the mountain and then down to the highway, where I could put the pedal to the metal and make up for lost time by speeding. As I reached the crest of the mountain, I turned right, picking up speed for the descent, when I suddenly had to apply the brakes, tires screaming, as I slammed into the seat belt, narrowly missing the car in front of me. Instinctively, I knew there had been an accident, but I was late for work and just did not have the time to stop and offer assistance.

Seeing the long line of traffic stopped ahead of me, stretching off into infinity, I realized that the detour that I would now have to take would add another twenty minutes travel time to my commute and I decided to get going before I would be in even more trouble for arriving late to work. Frantically, I turned the steering wheel, pressing the accelerator to the floor whilst busily cursing my luck as I pulled out into the opposite lane. That was when I saw the overturned SUV. Standing on the brakes again, for the second time in moments, I slammed into the seat belt like a fighter pilot maneuvering against a heat seeking missile, and I felt the straps cutting into my chest and midsection. “What am I doing,” I thought, “I don’t have time for this. I can’t afford to risk losing my job!” But it was if another hand was guiding mine that day as I turned off the ignition; unseen hands pushing me out of the car as I took off at a dead run down the mountain toward that overturned truck. That was when I saw the other vehicle, a rust colored car that I thought was a PT Cruiser, with the entire front end like an accordion, smashed against the side of the mountain. Seeing the driver of the SUV crawling out from her vehicle, I hurriedly asked if she was okay and she nodded yes and I could see that she was shaken up more than anything. I then made a beeline for the rust colored car, stripping off my work shirt so as not to damage it. What I saw when I reached the other vehicle stopped me in my tracks and froze my blood like an ice filled river.

I quickly circumnavigated the car, assessing the situation. I checked the driver first as he seemed to have the worst injuries. I could tell that his neck was broken as he sat there twitching, his head at an unnatural angle against the side of the car. I checked his pulse and it was faint and erratic. I knew that there was nothing that I could do for the driver and I then ran around to the passenger side of the vehicle to check on the other occupant. The man was conscious, but broken and bleeding; I could tell that he was quickly going into shock. I threw my work shirt on top of the vehicle and quickly stripped off my t-shirt tearing it apart for bandages and then removing my belt to use as a tourniquet, if necessary. The man had deep gashes on his head and right arm; I could not appraise the damage to his lower extremities because they appeared to have been swallowed whole by the gaping maw of the crushed front end. I started talking to him, asking his name and his companion's name as well; introducing myself; doing anything I could to keep him talking. I knew that I had to keep him talking and calm in order to keep him from slipping further into shock while I worked on his injuries. I learned that the driver’s name was Stefan, yet I cannot remember the passenger’s name; but I do remember the crimson arterial blood that was like a fountain. I bandaged him and applied my belt as a tourniquet, just above his elbow, slowing the bleeding but not stopping it completely. I yelled out for more bandages from the onlooking crowd; blankets, shirts, anything that I could use to bind his injuries, all the while keeping a running conversation with the man while I was worked on his many injuries.

I learned that they were both from Germany and were here in the United States on business. I don’t know how he managed it, but, the next thing I knew, he was handing me his cell phone, asking me to call the man they had been on the way to meet. When the phone was answered, I quickly apprised their business associate of the situation and asked if he could get word back to Germany, in order for their families to be notified. He assured me that he would do just that, thanking me before I hung up the phone. I put the cell phone back in the car and started talking to the passenger again, trying to keep his attention on me and prevent him from looking at Stefan. The man told me of his wife and children and his life back in Germany while I stood there and held his hand. I said meaningless, soothing things, assuring him that everything was going to be alright. I held his gaze with mine the entire time, while still attending to his injuries as best I could.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that; it seemed an eternity before the paramedics and firefighters showed up, but it was time to let the professionals go to work. I told the man goodbye, assuring him once again that everything would be alright, telling him to hold on. I quickly grabbed my work shirt from the roof of their car and ran back to my own. I had to get back home, call my boss, get dressed again and get back on my way to work. When I walked into my house, my wife started screaming, apparently, I looked like a ghoul; I hadn’t realized that I was completely covered in blood. My precious work shirt, which I had tried so hard to keep clean was destroyed. Seeing the blood all over me, everything that had happened finally struck home, hitting me with the force of a sledgehammer. I was beyond distraught and, quite possibly, in shock myself. I called my boss and explained the situation, and that I would be in as soon as I could get changed and on my way. Dy, my supervisor, asked me if I was crying and I realized that I was, the tears streaming down my face. Unashamedly, I told him that yes, I was crying. Dy told me to stay home that day and to just come to work as normal the next. Realizing just how distraught and exhausted I was, I agreed; I was certainly in no condition to go to work.

The next day, I went to work as normal. When I arrived, I found all of my fellow employees gathered around reading the newspaper. Dy saw me and asked me to come into his office where he told me that both men had succumbed to their injuries and had died. I was devastated; I blamed myself, thinking that there must have been something more that I could have done; something that I should have done and hadn’t. Dy insisted that I take the evening off and go home, so that I could work things out for myself. I couldn’t stop blaming myself, even though logically, I knew it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t until much later, and until after many long conversations with family and friends, that I realized that I had done the right thing. I had provided some small comfort to a man in his final moments and that was something to be proud of. I don’t consider myself anything special for any of my actions that day; I just did the right thing, even though initially, I hadn’t wanted to.