It was late at night, surprisingly calm. One of those days where the daytime was bombarded by rainstorms, and completely dies out during the night. It was also one of those odd days where my friend and myself elected to brave the stormy weather to indulge in an outdoor activity. It was fun, though. Sport is all about the fun, especially when you don’t care about the results.
I was driving home from a friend’s house after spending two hours watching “Band of Brothers”. Regardless of one’s mood, the show can never be taken lightly; it is perhaps as accurate as it gets, in terms of a filmed war motion picture. But historical accuracy aside, “Band of Brothers” tells a story, a story of brotherhood, of compatriotism, of a bond that cannot be comprehended by the average citizen.
So I drove, emotionally drained and somberly entertained. I accelerated to merge onto the highway and onto the Port Mann Bridge.
And it happened.
I was halfway into the merging lane; I turned to my left to shoulder check, briefly seeing a car changing to the left lane so I could merge. When I turned back, I saw an image of a little girl walking right into the path of my car. She was clad in a white sleeping gown, long, dark brunette hair blowing in the air. She couldn’t have been older than twelve, oh gosh.
She was staring out into the distance, to my left. Then she turned and faced my car and our eyes met for just a split second before I drove through her. I felt the ghost of her body passing through me as I drove by. My eyes widened, I had trouble breathing, and I felt paralyzed. All I could enable myself to do at that moment was place both hands on the wheel and gasp for air.
I drove home like this the rest of the way, both hands gripping on the steering wheel as hard as possible, fearing that I might suddenly lose the grip and the car would go spinning and doing multiple flips.
I have never hit anyone directly while driving, so I am not sure what that was about. If it was foreshadowing a future event, then I might as well crash into a tree, get my license rescinded, to prevent an imminent catastrophe.
What especially haunts me about this incident is that it was not I who was the victim in this vision / hallucination; the person being crushed into oblivion was someone else, the facelessness of her signifying the fact that it could be anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Impact
Every so often it happens.
The location is usually a café; it seems to occur more often outside my home. I’d be sitting, reading the chosen material of the day (the material itself is irrelevant, whether if it’s school related or not), sipping my overpriced caffeinated beverage and trying to focus.
Then it happens.
My senses are heightened; I’d see and hear things clearer than usual. I begin to feel restless, and try harder to focus on the words on the pages.
Impact.
A sudden moment of hallucinated blunt force trauma… I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car; I see a vehicle – a motorbike, a sedan, even a truck (on a bad day) – ramming right into me. The collisions are usually either head-on or at an angle. T-bones are rare. The moment of impact always shakes me to the core, often causing me to get bit nauseas.
It’s as if I’m driving into a brick wall; or perhaps more accurate, a brick wall driving into me, shattering all of the car’s metal, plastic, and glass, and crumbling all of my bones. It’s like a piece of glass mirror slamming hard onto the sidewalk, or perhaps, more eerily accurate, a blind side open ice hit by Scott Stevens.
It is foolish for me to suggest it as a symptom of any medical condition. However, these occasional ‘impact’ incidents did not occur until my accident over 2 years ago.
The car was totaled, but I moved on, mentally and physically. Yet I feel like I’m being struck by an eighteen-wheeler every now and then, my car and body crushed into oblivion…
Sometimes the results of these impacts can get ugly (think Anton Chigurh in “No Country for Old Men”). My arm is snapped in two, almost. A dangling limp with blood and flesh splattered on my lap and the bone clearly visible, snapped unnaturally like a tree branch broken by bare hands.
Usually though, the feeling is usually more sick to my stomach. My lungs cringe. My ribcage collapsing on itself, to the point where I vomit blood.
And then, after those few seconds of lucid agony, all would once again be well. Calm. Peaceful.
Until the next Impact.
The location is usually a café; it seems to occur more often outside my home. I’d be sitting, reading the chosen material of the day (the material itself is irrelevant, whether if it’s school related or not), sipping my overpriced caffeinated beverage and trying to focus.
Then it happens.
My senses are heightened; I’d see and hear things clearer than usual. I begin to feel restless, and try harder to focus on the words on the pages.
Impact.
A sudden moment of hallucinated blunt force trauma… I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car; I see a vehicle – a motorbike, a sedan, even a truck (on a bad day) – ramming right into me. The collisions are usually either head-on or at an angle. T-bones are rare. The moment of impact always shakes me to the core, often causing me to get bit nauseas.
It’s as if I’m driving into a brick wall; or perhaps more accurate, a brick wall driving into me, shattering all of the car’s metal, plastic, and glass, and crumbling all of my bones. It’s like a piece of glass mirror slamming hard onto the sidewalk, or perhaps, more eerily accurate, a blind side open ice hit by Scott Stevens.
It is foolish for me to suggest it as a symptom of any medical condition. However, these occasional ‘impact’ incidents did not occur until my accident over 2 years ago.
The car was totaled, but I moved on, mentally and physically. Yet I feel like I’m being struck by an eighteen-wheeler every now and then, my car and body crushed into oblivion…
Sometimes the results of these impacts can get ugly (think Anton Chigurh in “No Country for Old Men”). My arm is snapped in two, almost. A dangling limp with blood and flesh splattered on my lap and the bone clearly visible, snapped unnaturally like a tree branch broken by bare hands.
Usually though, the feeling is usually more sick to my stomach. My lungs cringe. My ribcage collapsing on itself, to the point where I vomit blood.
And then, after those few seconds of lucid agony, all would once again be well. Calm. Peaceful.
Until the next Impact.
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