Silas

Silas drove mindlessly down Poplar Tent road. The engine of his ’88 Chevy S10 was loud which suited him fine. It helped drown out his thoughts. The truck was in decent condition, bearing in mind it was ten years old. He’d gotten it from his father when he got his license the previous year.

It was late afternoon on a grey, misty day.

He passed the gas station, noticing a silver late-model Honda Civic with a daisy sticker on the right side of the back bumper. There was a dark-haired woman in the driver’s seat. That was all Silas noticed as he drove by.

He drove a little over the speed limit, as most did on this road. He wondered if he could outrun his thoughts.

It had been a month since Bekah died.

He merged into the left turn lane and made the turn on to US HWY 29. Silas took a meandering route through Concord with no destination in mind. He thought about driving at a high speed into one of the abutments supporting the bridge where HWY 29 loomed over I-85. That was his back-up plan.

He passed a strip mall and noticed a silver Honda Civic with a daisy sticker on the bumper. That was weird.

He’d been driving that night.

Silas wound his way through Kannapolis, trying to shut off his mind. It wasn’t working.

He’d been driving that night. He and Bekah had been in his truck and two of his friends, Jake and Sam were in Jake’s Jeep. They were racing down highway 85, late on a Friday night. They were acting stupid, passing in the emergency lane and driving too fast.

The speedometer had reached 90 when Silas lost control of the truck. It careened off the road, striking the guard rail and flipping over, landing on the passenger side of the truck before coming to rest on its roof. Silas lost consciousness for a time.

When he came to, he was aware of a barely tolerable pain in his left forearm. It was definitely broken. He wondered what had happened. He wondered how baby giraffes could reach the leaves on tall trees. Did their mothers pull the branches down so they could eat?

He shook his head. It felt as though his brain slammed against the confines of his skull. There were more important things to think about than the eating habits of baby giraffes. Like where was he and what happened? Why was his arm so painful?

He looked out the window and realized for the first time that he was upside down. He looked to his right and remembered.

Now, Silas drove through downtown Kannapolis. Parked outside of the Gem Theatre, he saw the same damn Honda Civic with the same damn daisy sticker on the back-right bumper. Silas scowled. He decided to stop and talk to the dark-haired woman in the car. He circled the block and ended up once again in front of the Gem.

The car was gone. Silas searched the street, unable to spot the Civic. He didn’t know what was going on, but he felt compelled to find that Honda Civic.

In the truck that night, Silas looked to his right. Bekah was unconscious. Or dead. There was blood dripping onto the ceiling of the truck. Quite a lot of it. Her long dark hair pooled on the ceiling, mixing with the blood.

He became aware of Jake screaming outside the truck. Blue and red lights penetrated his sightline. He groped for Bekah’s hand, finding it limp and bloody. He squeezed it, receiving nothing in return.

He didn’t remember much about the ride to the hospital. Once in the emergency room, his arm was set and he was admitted into the hospital overnight for observation. In his room, he asked his mother about Bekah. She’d died instantly, his mother informed him.

“Dead?” he’d croaked.

His fault, he thought now. It was his fault for acting like an idiot. His fault for driving like a moron. His frame of mind wasn’t so much Romeo and Juliet, that he couldn’t live in a world without Bekah. It was more crushing guilt that Bekah wasn’t in this world at all anymore. Guilt that Bekah’s family had to live without her and it was all his fault.

He drove mindlessly. He circled through town and wound his way back into Concord. His speed increased as his thoughts spun crazily in his head. He reached 70 mph on HWY 29 though the speed limit was 45. His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. He was too lost in his thoughts to consider that an accident at this speed might kill more than just himself. He didn’t consider the other people driving through the light mist.

He pointed his car toward the I-85 bridge and increased his speed. He was only a mile away now. He was going to do it. He figured that hitting the concrete at 90 mph should be enough to kill him and hopefully not anyone else.

In his mind’s eye, he saw a flash of taillights. On the right side of the silver bumper of the car in his mind was a daisy sticker. The car skidded on a wet part of the road and went off into a ravine on the right-hand side.

His foot eased up on the gas for a moment. He knew where that was. He could picture the bridge on Weddington Road where the little Honda had gone off.

He passed the exit onto I-85. He was lost in thought. Had his mind conjured the Honda’s wreck to distract him from what he’d planned?

Or was the woman in the Honda really in trouble?

He thought about how he’d seen the Honda all over town tonight and how it seemed to disappear when he’d tried to find it.

He decided to drive to Weddington Road and see what he could see. He could always kill himself later.

When he got to the bridge where he’d seen the Honda go off the road, he stopped his truck. He put his flashers on as he pulled over to the side of the road.

He could see broken brush and baby trees with the bark stripped off. He jogged over to the edge of the ravine. There at the bottom, where there was a little creek, was the Honda. He ran/slid down toward the car.

He could hear screams as he approached, but they weren’t adult woman screams. These screams belonged to a small child. Fog had formed and nearly shrouded the Honda. He peered into the back passenger-side window of the Civic.

A little girl, no more than three years old, face red, screamed and sobbed. “Mommy!” she screamed. “Mommy, mommy wake up!”

Silas ran around to the front driver’s side door. The woman with the dark hair was slumped over the steering wheel. She had blood running down the side of her face and appeared to be unconscious. He opened the door and felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.

He sprinted back around to the child’s side of the car and opened the door. She appeared unhurt. He fumbled with the straps of her car seat and lifted her out.

“It’s ok, sweetie. It’s ok. We’re going to call an ambulance.” He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the little girl alone with her unconscious mother for another second.

“Mommy! MOMMY!” she screamed.

“Shh. We’re going to get help.” Silas carried her carefully up to where he’d parked his truck. He rubbed her back and whispered soothing nonsense words.

In his truck, he had a cell phone. It was in a black case and plugged into the cigarette lighter. He set the little girl on the passenger seat of his truck and lifted the receiver, dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s been a wreck. I have the baby. But her mother needs an ambulance!” Silas cried.

“Slow down, sir. Where are you right now?”

“On Weddington Road between Sheffield Manor and Carriage Downs. Where the bridge crosses the creek. I saw a car go off the road and went to help.” But did he? Did he actually see it?

“Police and ambulance are on their way.”

Silas hung up the phone and pulled the little girl into his lap. He wasn’t sure who was comforting who, but her tears subsided. Silas’s didn’t, but he felt a little better.

Blue and red lights lit the foggy night. Silas closed his eyes against them, not wanting to see the images they conjured.

A policeman approached the truck. “Are you the one who dialed 911?”

Silas nodded, yes.

“Was she in the car too?” He indicated the little girl.

“Yes. She isn’t hurt, I made sure before I moved her.” The girl was dozing against his chest.

“We’ll have the EMTs look her over anyway. They are on their way down to get her mother.”

Silas nodded again. He could see them slipping and sliding down the ravine with their backboard.

Moments later, they carefully made their way back up with the child’s mother strapped to the board. Silas held his breath.

“She’s alive,” one of the paramedics called out. Silas released his breath. He knew it wasn’t a forgone conclusion that she would survive. She might have injuries they don’t know about yet. But for now, she was alive.

A paramedic approached Silas and asked if she could check out the little girl and make sure she was ok. She’d ride in the ambulance with her mother to the hospital. Silas was reluctant to let her go but did. The paramedic lifted the sleeping girl from his lap.

Silas remained in the truck until the ambulance pulled away. He shut the door and was about to start the engine when the police officer knocked on his window.

Silas rolled his window down. “Yes?” he asked.

“I just wanted to thank you for calling 911. You probably saved that woman’s life. With all of this fog, no one would have known the car had gone off the road. They might not have been found until tomorrow and by then it might have been too late.”

Silas burst into tears.

“What, son? It’s a good thing!” The police officer patted Silas’s back while he sobbed into his steering wheel.

“I’m just—relieved,” he managed to say.

“Do you want me to call someone to come and get you?” the policeman asked.

“No. No, I’ll be fine.” Silas took a deep breath and started the truck. “I’ll be fine.”

And he would be.