<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d10304686\x26blogName\x3dThe+Proverbial+Line\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://scottpatrick.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://scottpatrick.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-5786071934619625915', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Saturday, January 10, 2009

Looking at you through the glass.


So I'm lying here on the couch, staring out the back window/door into the beautiful winter scene which is laid out on my back yard and the woods beyond. White and clean (not that the two are mutually exclusive), and yet I'm not thinking of the beauty of the snow...I'm imagining my car flipping 3 times end-over-end again as I hit an icy patch in the road.

Can't happen, you say? Well, it did. About 11 years, 11 months, and 11 days ago (don't make me count the days, because I know that's not right, but just go along with me). I was driving home from an LGBA meeting at school (that's the 'mo group on campus) and had just dropped off 3 militant dykes at their dorm (at 20-something they aren't bulldykes yet...). One had just commented on how much she loved my car, little Pedro the brand-new Neon (yep..."Hi!"). I said thank you and went on my way down the back roads between campus and mom's house.

I was listening to some Tori and getting a bit nervous about the ice when suddenly I hit a patch and skidded off the road. I tried to pull it back on and almost managed to when the tire hit the edge of the road and decided, "now's a good time to explode." This caused my car to take a nose dive into the ditch after which it proceeded to roll like a weasel ball into the marsh (wetlands for the Politically Correct).

I don't remember actually rolling. I've been told that this is a self-defense mechanism of the brain; that in times of great stress, it decides to change the channel for a bit. I remember the CD starting back up (it had started skipping when the car rolled) with a lyric from Mr. Zebra that sang brightly, "...Too bad the burial was premature she said and smiled." I turned off the car, which had dutifully popped out of gear mid-roll, and got out of the car.

Here's the scary part for me; when I was young, around 12, I started having nightmares. Well one nightmare. I was always alone in a snowy field and calling for help. There was a road beside me and a street light above me and I was scared and alone. That dream always left me feeling cold and totally freaked. So when I got out of the car this chilly January evening...I was right there living that dream. At the time, I didn't quite understand what was going on and didn't relate the dream to this situation. I was too scared to put those pieces together yet, but figured it out a few days later.

Anyway, the nightmare stopped, I guess it was premature or was it premonition? And no, I can't listen to that song anymore.

So now I stare out and look at that lovely snow the way that a child may stare at a shark at the aquarium and thank whoever will listen that there is a thick piece of glass separating us.

Labels: , ,

1 Comments:

At 1/11/2009 9:41 AM, Anonymous neill's whiny, bitch-ass comment is...

crazy...great story. :)

 

Post a Comment