Nine-One-One
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High God shall remain stable and fixed under the Shadow of the Almighty, Whose Power no foe can withstand.” Psalm 91:1 Amplified Bible
I probably should have died that Sunday afternoon. But I did not. I am still here. I am here with everything intact. I needed a really good massage with that great massage therapist who looks like a little sumo wrestler. I did notice that my neck muscles were a little stiffer than usual, and a week later I was sore all over, but I am here. People see me. I am eating, etc., and talking, and people talk back. Not a Dean Koontz moment at all. I am alive. I am grateful.
My friend Cynthia Clawson says that there are really only two prayers. Prayer Number One: “Help me, help me, help me, Jesus!” Prayer Number Two: “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus.” I have to agree.
I was faced with a potentially fatal car accident a few weeks ago. I was driving home from the Dallas area, and was on I-45 South. Two lanes, lots of trucks, SUVs, etc., and all going at least a minimum of five miles per hour over the speed limit. I was talking with my friend Melinda; I had dropped her off in North Dallas to celebrate her birthday with her parents who live there. I‘d gone to visit with my son and grandson and his family. We were on our way back to Houston and sharing our different weekends. I was in the right lane, and had slowed down to about 50 mph since I was behind “Mr. Pokey.” Mr. Pokey was driving a rusted black Honda. Melinda and I were talking about foccacia bread, and food, our favorite subject, and the fabulous meals she had had that weekend. I checked my mirrors: left, rearview, right, rearview and left, in that order, put my blinker on and accelerated to change lanes and pass Mr. Pokey. Melinda screamed. And it was then I saw the wall of silver metal on my left that had appeared like the night, blocking the sun. A big Chevy Suburban was just suddenly there, coming out of nowhere. You know the type. A Road Bully. We’ll call him, “Mr. Pushy.” They speed as fast as they can down the highway, come upon you with no warning, hang on your tail, and if you don’t move fast enough, they zip around you to pass as soon as they can. Then they weave in and out of traffic down the road, intimidating and pushing the rest of the drivers to move over and give them passage. I never saw him until it was too late.
I cut hard to the right to avoid hitting Mr. Pushy, and ended up back behind Mr. Pokey, who was still clipping along at 50 mph or so. So I braked and screeched and cut the wheel again to avoid hitting Mr. Pokey and went into a spin. It was the whole bit: the wheels skidded , the brakes locked and seemed to be no good, the car shook as it slid down the highway sideways, then careened from one lane to the next, back and forth, and “doughnuting “down the Interstate.
In the midst of all of this I heard two things, “Help us Jesus!” over and over again: That from the person sitting next to me. And then I heard myself yell, “Turn into the spin,” (???)… I have to turn into the spin!” And on one of the slides back to the right, as I was spinning right, I resisted the urge to turn left, and away from the right lane. I closed my eyes; I took a deep breath, and I turned the wheel right….into the spin. The car flew over to the shoulder, spun around and landed in the ditch, facing the oncoming traffic…BUT, we were off the highway and stopped. We sat there; and sat. We stared. We inhaled and exhaled. And then did it again. We waited in silence. Breathing; Listening to the loud thumping of our hearts, and whispering “Oh My God…Oh My God.” We waited for the five to ten cars that would stop with people who would help us and care for us and check on us. I imagined big muscle-y men in trucks – pulling over to the shoulder - racing towards us there stuck in the ditch to see if we were all right…. And so we waited for them, and breathed…in and out. And while we waited we went through the verbal examination and checklist, just to be sure. We were both holding on to the dashboard with our arms and hands outstretched. I said, “Okay, we’re alive.” “Yes.” “You okay?” “Yes.” “‘Airbags didn’t deploy.” “No.” “We didn’t hit anyone.” “No! And I do not know why not.” “No one hit us. “ “No!?!...It’s a miracle.” And we breathed…in and out…and continued to wait for our rescuers…the big men… rushing towards us…and it didn’t happen. No one stopped. No one came. Mr. Pokey was long gone. So was Mr. Pushy. It took a while for us to connect that help was not coming. I finally quit staring ahead and looked at Melinda. She looked at me. “No one is stopping,” she whispered. She was hurt. Surprised. Stunned. We were on our own. We watched and stared as the cars zinged by us one by one.
“No one is going to stop!” “I know…I can’t believe it.” “We’re stuck in this ditch facing the wrong way.” “Yes.” “Thank God we landed in the ditch.” “And not the road.” “Thank God I can call Triple A.” “We could have killed a lot of people and died too.” “I know.”
There had been enough drama on the way there. A few miles outside of Dallas, a huge thunderstorm broke out –a really big black one with lightning and noise and lots of water suddenly cascading down from nowhere. Melinda was a little “not afraid,” but aware…. cautious… concerned… and giving voice to that. And to that I’d said, “Don’t worry. Lightning might strike all around us, but God won’t let it hit us.” And with that, a huge bolt of lightning hit an electrical pole directly across the highway from us. It blew up, exploded and caught on fire, buzzing and hissing with all sorts of noise and fireworks and electrical display or wires twisting and snaking around in the air. I swear. Really. This is totally true. That was a tad sobering! And scary. Now, on the way back home, here we were in the ditch, facing the oncoming traffic, but with our lives.
We slowly came out of shock. I tried to start the car. Nothing. Then I heard myself say, “Well, you could put the clutch in first.” I did, and held it down while I tried to start the engine again. It started. Okay. Deep breath. I shifted into first gear, and the car actually began to climb out of the ditch. At best, I had expected the spin of the rear wheels digging parallel trenches in the soggy dirt on the side of the road. Surely that was going to happen….? But instead, it was as if several large men were pushing from behind as hard as they could. I pictured them with their heads down and their feet digging into the earth, the sleeves of their blue work shirts rolled up, their hands on the back of the car, pushing with all their might. We were amazed as we bumped and chugged out of the ditch, and up and out and on to the shoulder. However, I was facing the wrong way. Heart racing, I waited there staring at the oncoming traffic for the opportunity to gun the engine and zip the car around and get into the right lane, hoping to God I would not stall.. I was a little nervous about the car being still safe to drive. So I sat there focused on the oncoming traffic, thinking of all these things. Melinda was praying…constantly. Another SUV zipped by. Then there was nothing: Nothing in either lane. I let out the clutch, pressed the accelerator, and made a hard, 180 degree right turn into the right lane. I kept shifting and accelerating until I had reached fifth gear. No shaking. No shimmy. The steering wheel was steady. I couldn’t believe it. I never had to call Triple A…
We drove down I-45 South. “That was really bad.” “I know.” “It’s like that TV program, ‘What Would You Do…?’ ” “Yeah…” “No one stopped.” “I know…” “Do you hurt?” “No…but maybe tomorrow.” “Probably.” “Maybe we should take some ibuprophen now.” “Good idea.” I handed her the bottle in the side pocket of the left door. She shook enough tablets out for both of us.
Still shaken, we travelled a few miles down the road in silence. I eventually pulled over. We pulled over and found a Starbuck’s and a bathroom. We investigated the car, the trunk and the back seat. It was curious. There was grass caught in all the wheels, and stuck to the bottom of the car, and the chocolate birthday cake Melinda’s mother had baked for her had flipped out of her carryon bag and was face down in the back seat. Her mom had wrapped it tightly in clear plastic wrap. It was a little flatter, but no worse for the trauma it had endured. But that was all. We took the birthday cake into Starbuck’s with us. We ordered our coffees, found a table and a couple of plastic forks, unwrapped the cake and prayed. Lord have mercy, that cake was good…I mean really, really good. “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you, Jesus.”
Copyright: Marie Plauche’-Gustin October 2010
