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| Canyon Door collage J. Warren |
We had one of those moments here Saturday evening, while it was still light. Donna and I were loving the rain, rain we needed in the gardens, hard enough rain to force a break. I made a late supper as the sky was clearing some but the wind felt odd. Ominous. Donna checked the tomato plants a dozen times, sure they would be damaged. I wanted them hardened off well and refused to let her take them in. As we sat down to eat there was a noise we know well, the sickening sound of a car out of control. Impossibly loud then, just as impossibly, silent.
The silence didn't stick. It hung there, suspended for a millisecond and then we were dialing the phone, as were our neighbors, doors opening, four of us running toward the trees.
I am grateful our neighbors are first responders by profession. At first when I looked at Keith he was exactly how I knew him...the guy next door. I forgot to step back~ get out of the way and let the pros handle it. But it was only for a second.
That split-second of silence between the crash and everything since seems like the last quiet ever. Shouting and crying led to sirens and crisp verbal orders and boots on the wet street. Sirens gave way to beating helicopter rotors and after the helicopter it was our own hushed murmurings from out of the way.
We are hyper vigilant now. The sounds haven't stopped yet. Every car door slam, every voice and sob, the moving cars and stopping cars all have sounds we can't seem to ignore. We have things to do but find ourselves stopped, paused for no reason, wondering how the girls who lived are faring, praying for the families of those who died. We are trying to stay out of the way now that I have said my piece for the TV news....about impossibly young lives altered in an instant, gone in an instant...and it seems like folly now for me to have imagined it could make a difference to speak up.
It is in my nature to try to change things, to speak out and hope some one will slow down. Still hoping.
