Black Ice
by Billy Thompson
“Ahh… shoot!” Even without thinking I managed to keep to our promise that we wouldn’t swear in front of the boy. He was almost five now and prone to repeating anything he heard. And he remembered everything. “Remember the time, dad, when…” he was always saying, and a lot of times I couldn’t, or didn’t until he reminded me. It amazed me what his little head had the capacity for.
Just a minute before, after I’d turned right off
He was the single greatest kid in the world; I was convinced of it. He made me better – better than I was and better than anyone else who didn’t, who couldn’t, love him as much as I did. The day he was born was the best day of my life. It changed everything. I wasn’t living for myself anymore, I was living for him. Which was fine, better than fine. It gave me purpose. I remember looking at him in the baby room in the maternity ward and thinking I would do absolutely anything for him. I would die for him. It wasn’t even a question. It felt like second nature. And boy did it feel good.
“Dad, turn around,” he said, “you’re driving.”
He was right. I was. And in fact
And then everything seemed to slow down, to move in slow motion as I felt the ice below take control of my car away from me, and I watched as the approaching blue minivan that was thirty yards away became twenty yards away became ten, little more than a few car lengths. The time we slid was time enough for me to pound the steering wheel and internally curse myself for not being more careful, for putting Evan in this situation. How could I let this happen? I had to make this okay again. I had to make a decision. Should I turn the steering wheel right, into the spin, in the hope of regaining control of the car by keeping my back tires off the ice? I had read that in ice and snow, it is good to turn against your instincts into a spinout. So, maybe that was my best move. But then, if it didn’t work, or even if it did but not in time, I was all set for a head-on collision with the blue minivan that was slowing, but slowly. And my sedan was not going to get the best of that mash-up. Or should I let myself go with the spinout and just gun the gas, hoping to pull my back tires off the unseen ice and shoot the car into our left turn?
All of a sudden, everything that had felt like it was moving in slow motion started speeding up again and was almost in fast forward now. I didn’t have time to think, to decide – I had to just go, whichever way I was going to. I gunned the gas, accelerated without choosing to, and I felt the wheels turn furiously beneath us, though we continued moving sideways instead of in the direction of our left turn.
“Whoa, dad!” I heard Evan say from the back.
I instinctively leaned forward as if my weight would make the difference in moving the car. I pushed my upper body forward like a sprinter at the ribbon, and it did indeed feel like I was in a race against time to get myself and Evan out of harm’s way and onto
That van seems awfully close was my last thought before I felt my front tires grip dry asphalt. My back tires fishtailed, but the car was moving forward again, toward Maple, toward the daycare center, toward none of this having ever happened.
But, then I heard the sound. The impact. The van tried to brake but it hit black ice and slid into us. The sound of its front hitting my side was harsh, metal on metal, yet the way my sedan seemed to crinkle made it feel like we were inside aluminum foil. We were spinning again, and I didn’t know which way was straight.
“Daddy!” Evan cried with a panic I recognized from when he thought he heard a monster in his closet, but this was worse, as if something was clicking in him as he sat in his booster seat that this, perhaps, would have consequences. He was already growing up too fast. And he still had so much growing up left to do. That was what went through my head – it was an abstract thought though, almost more like a feeling than a thought – as I reached behind me and towards him in an attempt to ward off whatever danger awaited us upon our next impact. I got him into this; I had to get him out.
I kept my left hand on the steering wheel, though I had no control of where we were going next. Fortunately, the cars behind the van had stopped and we slid unimpeded into the retention wall along this part of Pin Oak, separating the property on the corner from the street. Impact this time was on my side, my door, and though I had my seatbelt on, I rammed my left shoulder and the left side of my head against the window. But, the real pain was in my right shoulder, as I did everything in my power to keep my arm in front of my son, holding it against the back of the passenger seat even as I rammed into the window to my left. I finally let go when I felt my shoulder pop out of its socket.
I had always heard a separated shoulder causes excruciating pain. It does. It hurt so much I wasn’t even aware of the fast-growing lump on my head.
“Holy… ooowww,” I said as I threw my left hand to my right shoulder. I had to think that time not to swear, but I wouldn’t, not even now, in pain after a car accident. What I said in front of my boy was something I still had control over. I had to think of him, how he would remember this.
“Daddy, are we okay?” Evan asked in a calmed voice after our car stopped moving.
“Yeah, buddy, we’re okay. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” he questioned, but I couldn’t answer, even though he was probably wondering if sorries were like trees. “That’s okay, Dad. We’re okay.”
Yes, we were. Still I was sorry that I had gotten us into this accident. I was supposed to be better. The best dad to the best boy. It was black ice though; I couldn’t see it, no one could – the van hit it, too. So, maybe I could forgive myself. I mean, what could I really do? And now, we were okay, weren’t we, other than my shoulder injury? I let myself believe it was true, we were okay, yet I started to cry anyway. Because in the same way my dislocated shoulder blocked out the pain of my headache, I had a new pain that caused me not to feel my shoulder for a minute. I had knowledge, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, of something so deep as to be elemental, and it was something my soul couldn’t deny, even though I had never before known it was there, had never even suspected it and would have said a person was crazy, and unspeakably mean in fact, for even suggesting its existence.
When Amy came, she was pleased with me for my injuries, for how they implied I had thought only of our Evan as the car spun, how it seemed I did everything I could to protect him. It was so good to see her, but I told her I didn’t want to talk about that, what I’d done for Evan. Which implied something too. But, I knew better. I started crying again. I knew she could never know. She would never forgive me. For this, I’m not sure I can even forgive myself.
But Evan, can you? Buddy? Because see, the thing is men are different like trees too, and situations are, and intentions. Nothing is just one thing or simply as it seems; you don’t know who someone really is until there is context, until he is put in different situations. You think you know, but you don’t. You can’t. You’ll see. I said I would die for you, and I meant it. I really did. And, when I put my arm back to protect you after we were hit, I didn’t mean it symbolically, I really meant that too. I was trying, I was wanting only to come between you and any harm. I was, but then why did I – (I’m telling you this because it is my chance at salvaging the moment, at using it to be better, to maybe even help you be better; plus, I couldn’t bear what might be the consequences if you figured it all out yourself…and your little head is capable of so much) - but then so why did I try to accelerate out of the spin instead of turning into it? Turning into the spin, as I read, might be counter to one’s instincts, but if we got hit when I accelerated, it was going to be on your side: what was my instinct there?
What does that make me?
Why was work on my mind, and steak and wine, and even Amy’s, I mean, mommy’s embrace? I should have turned into the spin, made absolutely sure you had every chance to have those things yourself. Of course, maybe things would have turned out differently if I had. Maybe I would have gotten hit head on and taken away your dad, and now, as it stands, you still have everything. And nobody will ever know; no one would ever even guess by the way things played out.
But, I know.
I’m so sorry, Evan.
I didn’t see the black ice. I didn’t know it was there. I couldn’t.
I just came up on it and, sure of my instincts, went with my instinct and, ahh… shit.
I didn’t see it.
I didn’t know.