Rising Up

I wasn’t looking ahead of me. I was glancing at the floor on that very dark and chilly night. My cell phone rang and I took my eyes off the lifeless road for one quick glance. I shouldn’t have. I looked up again and seemingly out of thin air, a deer, ran out in front of me. I swerved, then lost all control.

Earlier that night, I had left my office building at around seven and hurried to leave. I entered my Sedan and drove off, not thinking about how the ride home would go. I didn’t notice much of anything, like how it was such a pretty, clear night, or how the sky was a dark blue, with stars scattered all around. The routine was mundane; the same drive I experienced absentmindedly every night; almost like a zombie. I didn’t even notice there was a quarter moon glowing bright. Who knew such a beautiful and under-appreciated night could turn for the worse?

I screamed as I made an effort to turn the steering wheel. I desperately fought to stay on the road, but the momentum was unlike anything I had felt before. “If I could just slow down before I reach the north bridge, I’ll be fine.” I hastily thought. My efforts were in vain. I struggled to maintain balance. From right to left, and left to right, I rocked furiously. I swerved right into the barrier and broke it. The crunch of metal on metal hurt my teeth. The airbag popped open startling me. Crack. My head hit the windshield. I couldn’t believe it; I was falling off of the bridge.

It’s strange. The most trivial things mean so much sometimes. But right now, I remembered the smell of coffee and aftershave and your skin from just the other night. I need to see you again, Robert. I don’t care about our fight. It doesn't matter. I need to tell you. I was driving home from a meeting that ran late. I had hoped to just relax with some wine, have dinner, and talk with Robert. Well, that wasn't in the cards on that night.

My car shattered the stillness of the ocean and broke the reflection of the moon on the dark blue waters. The car sunk in quickly; it took a while to get a grasp on what happened. The air was knocked out of me as fast as a headshot can take a life. I felt my heart beating rapidly as I breathed in the salty, moist, air. Then, the water started pouring inside of the car. I touched my brow, wincing; it was bleeding.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and I opened my window as fast as I could to swim out of it. I knew as much as that to save myself. It was opening and the water quickly gushed inside. The water around me kept rising up higher and higher past my hips. So I prayed, “Please, God, save my life. There is so much I haven’t done; so much I need to say and things I haven’t accepted. Please, let me stay in this world a little longer than this.”

By then, the window was fully open, finally. Now, the water was up to my neck. I had to move quickly. I took in a really deep breath and then my head sunk under the water. I pushed myself through the window. It’s so cold, I thought. I pushed against the weight and using all my muscles I started to swim upward. I fought to get higher and higher. The surface was so far. I kept swimming, but I was running out of oxygen. I pushed forward. I can’t die. I felt my breath starting to give out. Am I almost there? The waves weakened and finally I made it above the surface. I breathed in harshly. I felt the cold air. It hit me like a cold slap. I smiled. I made it. I swam toward the dirt filled land and rocks. Reaching the ground, I laid there; savoring every texture, smell, and breath.

“Thank you, thank you, God. Thank you for this second chance. Thank you so much.” I stood up, shivering and dripping; soil stuck to my clothes. I smiled.

After that night, I realize and see so much more beauty around me. Now, when I leave my office at night, I look at the sky. I squint my eyes and look for the stars. Every time I see Robert, I hug him tightly. I no longer need to remind myself to be grateful for each breathe and to truly live in each moment.