SARAH

 

I didn’t know why at the time, but as I waited in traffic to pull out onto the freeway the image of my mother came into my head and a shiver ran through me like a million scampering mice. As I put the car into gear and rolled out onto the road, the feeling that the image had produced lingered in my heart.

“So, Sarah,” Holly said from the backseat, breaking me out of my thoughts, “you got any plans for tonight?”

“I was out last night on patrol,” I replied, glancing up into the mirror at the mother and her two sons sitting behind me, “so I’m probably gonna have an early night tonight. Plus I’ve got church tomorrow.”

“What’s patrol?” she asked with a slight frown.

“Christ’s Patrol it’s called. We basically walk the streets at night helping people. We offer assistance to the homeless, people on drugs, drunk people and anyone else that needs help.”

“You’re always helping someone or other, Sarah,” Holly remarked warmly, making me smile up at her in the mirror. “Like now for instance,” she went on. “You’ve been working all day at the food bank—helping folks in need—and now you’re taking us home because we gotta spend three hours on two buses. Always helping someone.”

“The world needs help.”

“You’re damn straight there,” Holly said, glancing out the window at the field of trees that dashed past at the side of the road.

Holly was a single mother. I’d known her five years, ever since she first started coming to the food bank I volunteer at every Saturday. The boys were Kyle and Scott. The former was eleven years old and the latter seven. Their father hadn’t been around since Scott was two, and even when he was, he had been an abusive addict who would steal the last scrap of food from their mouths in order to feed his own habit. They were just one of the many desperate families that exist in America, relying on charity to feed themselves in the wealthiest country in the world.

“How’s everything with you?” I inquired into the back of the car.

“What can I say?” she sighed. “I’m working two part-time jobs and yet still I’m coming to the food bank every Saturday without fail, so I guess that tells you all you need to know about how I’m doing.”

“There’s a lot of people coming to the bank these days,” I mused aloud. “It seems like there’s more and more each time.”

“Yeah, people are real hurt these days. Folks forgetting what it was like before. They keep saying on the news that the economy is getting better, that the country’s in better shape. But I don’t see it. Folks like me don’t see it. The underbelly of the city don’t see it. We just get swept underneath with all the rest of the trash.”

“You just gotta keep—”

I stopped.

As I was talking, a huge fuel truck came steaming past in the fast lane, swallowing my Prius up in its great big shadow. Large trucks always make me nervous when they come rumbling past; my heart flutters like the wings of a bee as they make my little car tremble. I looked down at the speedometer and saw that I was doing fifty. This alarmed me, because by the way the truck went past it must have been doing at least seventy. I carefully watched it roar by.

“I was saying,” I continued once the truck had made it several car lengths ahead and was disappearing into traffic, “that you’ve gotta keep your head up. Don’t fall into the trap of being too down. You are doing everything you can for your family. Don’t feel down about that, feel proud.”

“You’re just saying that,” Holly commented, the twinkle of a smile sliding across her lips.

“I certainly am not. Many in your situation give up. They fall into ruin and they shrug. Their life dissolves around them and they shrug. Finally their children are taken into custody, and still all they do is shrug. You should feel proud that you haven’t allowed despair to eat away at your heart; you haven’t shrugged.”

“Oh! It takes a bite once in a while. Despair. I just gotta stay strong for my boys. My boys keep me going.”

At that moment I looked up into the mirror and saw the reflection of Holly squeezing her sons tenderly, an arm around each of them. It was a beautiful scene, and I was glad to be witness to it.

A sudden bang, however, thundered through the air and took my eyes away from the mirror. I glanced back at the road and was presented with a confusing mess of screeching vehicles, the smoke from their tires hanging over the tarmac. I screamed and plunged both feet down on the brake, the red lights of a crashed car leering into view. I swerved to avoid it, coming within a few feet, and, as I passed around, I spotted another car smash into it from the side.

All around, cars spun out of control and struck each other—spun and struck, spun and struck—an echo of crashing metal and smashing glass ringing out. As I skidded along, trying desperately not to spin out of control, I suddenly noticed the trailer of a truck stretched right across all the lanes of the freeway, several vehicles already piled into it. I steadied the car for a moment, but my whole body tensed as I realized that we were going to hit the trailer.

A deafening crash rang out and I felt my bones fly up inside my body, a shower of glass spraying around the inside of the car, the impact of the collision ricocheting through my flesh, a great weight applied to my legs; I heard the sound of someone screaming ringing in my ears.

It wasn’t until we were at a stop that I realized it was me doing all the screaming. With blood dripping down my face from a number of cuts, I sat in shock, breathing heavily, my heart thumping like a hammer in my chest. I went to turn my head, to see if Holly and the boys were okay, but an electric pain surged through it and I was unable.

“Holly?” I called out in a shivering voice.

But nothing came back and I began to despair, hearing more and more cars crashing around me, absolute chaos everywhere. I tried to move my body but screamed out when the shooting daggers of a shocking pain surged up my legs and through me.

I started to cry out for help. While I did, I began to smell smoke. Then I saw it drift faintly past the window in gray wisps. And soon I could see the flames that were moving toward us from the other side of the trailer. The sight of fire stopped my cries dead in my throat and I couldn’t help but watch it clamber along at a steady pace, like stretching fingers, spreading toward us from across the sea of cars.

“HELP!” I bellowed harder than I ever had in my life. “HELP!”

I screamed and screamed and screamed, and just as I began to lose faith that we would ever be reached before the fire, a face presented itself at the smashed window and I felt utter salvation. The first thing I said to him was to get the others. However, when my eyes took in his handsome face, I was astounded to see standing there the man who had so viciously insulted and provoked me the previous night while I was out on patrol.

“It’s you,” was the second thing I said to him.