The Girl at Atlantic & Chelsea

Air is pouring into my windows at 80mph. The only light anywhere comes from my dashboard, my headlights and the thousands of Lighting bugs that float in the hot wet air that I am slicing through. It kind of gives you the impression of being underwater with those soft glows coming on and off at various depths above me. I'm on a road cutting through the Pine Barrens of South Jersey. Just driving... frustrated and trying to make sense of it all.

My barefoot holds the cheap black plastic pedal to the floor. I'm in third gear, when I should be in fifth, but I dont shift up because I need the engine yell like I want to yell. I know that I'd feel better if I cried, but I dont do that either. Its the kind of stupid passionate 24 year old or teenager might do. Taking turns too tight just to see...to see if I really am as immortal as I feel.

In my head is a girl I would think about for years to come. She's not my wife (who is home waiting for me with our baby) and I dont know her name. My buddy saw her walk past our office as we were getting ready to run to the corner for a soda. I didnt see her till moments later when she lay under a brand new white Dodge Neon.

She had on a beautiful yellow dress that cascaded down her legs an onto the dark asphalt of that Atlantic City Intersection. I later realize that the pattern on the cloth is from the tires. She was my age and pretty, and if I had seen her in any other situation I'd probably divert my eyes from her gaze in shyness, and then forget her forever.

It happened infront of two Firemen, who immediatley radioed for help, and were trying to assess her situation. They leave the girl where she is, spooning the front passanger tire, while they check to see if she's breathing. They're concerned her back is broken.

I stare at her tan legs and wonder what happened to her shoes. I realize that there are people yelling in Spanish all around me, and I'm embarrassed to be gawking at this poor girl and I run back to the office.

So now I'm testing myself, angry at nobody, angry at everything for what may be a senseless loss. I'm mad at myself for not knowing who to be mad at. It is ironic how much life is in these woods I'm driving through, and how all I can taste is death.

In the coming days I would debate calling all of the local hospitals. Did she live? What was her life like? What was her name? I never called. Even as time went on, I always wondered.

Years later, I would buy a house in another town and I would get all my answers. A neighbor would tell how her Son's godmother was hit by a car, went into a coma and died a few days later. I would scare the shit out of her by saying "I was there"