Doin' Somethin' Right

Have you ever wanted to do or say somethin', but stopped yourself short – weighed your rationale on a pendulum of impulse vs. instinct?

It was only a few days ago that, had I the capacity, I would have stopped to ask myself such a question.

I had yet to explore the entirety of our small community and its even more rural out-lands, and convinced Kevin to take me on a hike. He had mentioned a spot that overlooked the water in the bay, where the waves crashed against walls of stone rather than the typical sandy shores of the more popular beaches.

Though the walk to the summit was fairly easy, I found myself breathless at its peak.

The view was unlike any other in the area that I had seen. Had I been wearin' a Victorian gown or some other flowy dress (rather than my hikin' boots and favorite pair of roughed-up jeans) I would have felt like the heroine from some Harlequin romance novel – pitchin' my woes to the wind atop the bluff as my hair and petticoat flowed around me.

But I was not that pithy character. My emotions, needs, wants, and means of execution whirled and changed as violently as the water churned below us.

Kevin knows me well enough by now. He says I get a look in my eyes when I'm about to do something impulsive (that is when it's not a completely knee-jerk reaction from my flip lip or need to touch some wonderfully decorative body art).

He started to growl before I even realized my feet movin' backward.

“Jeaux, don't.”

“Don't do what?” I asked innocently.

But before I could hear his response, my legs were pumpin' below me. Takin' one final leap at the edge, I flew off the cliff.

An instinctive scream sprang from my chest when my body felt that initial shock of free-fall. Straight like a pencil, I crossed my arms over my chest just as my feet sliced the water.

The warm Gulf enveloped my senses as I let the current bring me back to the surface.

“Whew!” I screamed throwin' my arms up in triumph (or maybe in defiance?), and searchin' for Kevin on the hill.

I expected to hear him chastisin' me from the cliff but when I finally saw him he wasn't even lookin' at me.

It all happened so fast.

I heard the squeal of tires behind me; then the first crash. Spinnin' around in the water, I saw what Kevin's eyes were locked on. A small SUV-type car was careenin' along the side-rail of the coastal highway on the adjacent side of the bay.

Stunned, I watched as the car jerked again, only to pitch and grind as it came hurling off the pavement to somersault to a stop a few hundred yards away.

I could see Kevin runnin' as my instincts followed suit, my arms propellin' at my sides through the waves with all the fury I could muster.

By the time I made it to the other side of the small enclave, Kevin had made his way around as well, but was still a few paces behind me when I came runnin' out and onto the beach. We came upon the smashed car before its wheels had stopped spinnin' in the air.

I don't know if the people saw us runnin' or managed to see the wreck from their vantage, but there were a few makin' their way towards us from the beach. Kevin paused to yell for one of them to call 911.

That's when I smelled it. Gas.

“Kevin!” I screamed, interruptin' him. “Kevin! Gas!”

He stopped then, liftin' his nose to inhale the distinct odor.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes scowlin'. “Jeaux, the police will be here soon. They'll probably need the jaws-of-life to get them out anyways. Let's just wait a minute, okay, it's too dangerous!” he implored, holdin' my bicep as though to keep me in place.

But I wasn't listenin'.
.
A cry. All I could hear was a baby's cry.

And there was only one place it could be comin' from. I jerked away from Kevin and went runnin' for the car. Even given his dissent, I knew he was right behind me.

The side doors of the car were inaccessible being smashed on one side and buried on the other. The back window, however, was clear of obstructions, and the window itself was already shattered.

I hadn't even noticed the added weight of my soggy clothes until I lifted my boot to kick-out the sheet of shatter-proof glass. Kevin, was of course, right by my side, quickly helpin' me to move it out of the way.

I took quick stock of the passengers. It looked to be a typical family of four: Dad in the driver seat and Mom in the passenger side; the man looked to be totally unconscious, but his wife was on the brink, moaning and muttering incoherently; (I was much more concerned about the kids in the back) the toddler, who's crying had turned to incessant screams was nearly completely upside down, but still locked-in tight to his car-seat; his brother, whom I assumed to be somewhere around 10, was unconscious and hung from his seat-belt – his arms danglin' limply in front of him.

Squeezin' my upper half through the opening, I carefully undid the buckles of the car-seat, trying desperately not to drop the baby on his head in my awkward position.

From the inside of the vehicle, the fumes were worse than ever.

Once I had the tearful toddler in my arms, I pulled him free from the car, handin' him over to Kevin. Like an assembly line, the campers filed behind Kevin; a woman at the end takin' the baby away from the scene and noxious fumes.

Next, the older child. The mother was moanin' somethin' (I think for her babies) and I did my best to soothe her with hushed promises of their rescue.

The boy was too big and the sayin' “dead weight” brought with it a whole new morbid and practical meanin'. It was all I could do to lift the boy's limp frame through the window to Kevin's more able arms. Again, he too was hefted along to the next person in line who took him to safety.

“Jeaux,” Kevin commanded, “Jeaux, that's enough. You're going to get yourself killed! We've done all we can do.”

“No!” I shouted, “You've done all you will do! Not can! I'm not going to save those babies' lives just to rip away their only meanin' at the same time!”

“Jeaux, you haven't done anything but rescue those kids! Don't be stupid!”

But the smell of the gas was growin' stronger. And I could hear no sirens.

I heard the mom moan again then, and jerked away from Kevin once more, back into the wreckage.

She didn't seem to be stuck, but I couldn't get the god-damned seat-belt undone.

“I need your knife Kevin!” I shouted, knowin' he always kept one on him.

“Jeaux!” He yelled back rebukingly.

“Your fucking knife Kevin! Now!”

When I'd finally sawed through the cloth, she was at least lucid enough to obey my commands.

Painstakin'ly, I managed to lean her against me long enough to heave her body into the back-seat where Kevin and the last camper (the man who'd dialed 911) helped to hoist her out of the window.

When they tried to half-walk, half-carry the woman from the wreck, she turned back to see the car and would have fallen to her knees were it not for the man by her side.

I could only assume seein' the twisted heap of metal where her husband was still pinned was what haunted her as she cried out his name.

Impulse? Instinct? At some point, the lines become mottled.

I could hear Kevin cursin' me and shoutin' for me to get out of the “god-damned car.”

Tryin' to find a secure position for my feet, I quickly assessed the situation and soon growled my indignation. There was no fuckin' way I could get him out. The steerin' wheel had him pinned too tight.

Stickin' my head out the window, I glared past the sun into Kevin's very unamused eyes.

Quickly explainin' my dilemma to him, he shouted, “Get out of there now!”

“No! I can't just leave him!”

“Do you want to get yourself blown up? Are you going to let this thing kill you?”

My thing, being my impulse control, just to be clear.

“This thing,” I sneered, “Has done nothing but ruin lives and break hearts Kevin! What is the fucking point if I can't do something right with it? Somethin' good? Don't you get that? My life means nothin'! And his means everything to them!” I yelled back, pointin' at the man's family.

“The seat,” Kevin blurted, “See if the seat will recline.”

If I hadn't been in such an awkward position I would've kicked myself in the ass for not already havin' thought of that one.

But, even with the seat belt detached and the chair reclined, Kevin still had to lean over the edge of the window - trying to avoid the shards of glass - to help me lift the man from the seat. It took Kevin, the other helper guy (who's name I learned was Jeff) pullin' and me pushin' at the man's waist to get him out of the car.

It was one of the few times in my life I've prayed. I prayed for his family. I prayed that I wasn't actively paralyzin' the man by moving him without a brace. And I prayed that we didn't all blow-up.

The fumes had poisoned my head with a poundin' heachache by then, but the pain dulled in comparison to my resolve.

With the man draped between Kevin and Jeff, they managed to lug him away from the car. We had barely gotten 30 yards away before a fire-red convertible came flyin' around the curvy road.

I don't know if it was the heat, or a spark from the gravel being flung behind the speedster's tires, but it was that second that the car chose to blow.

If I had thought my head was pounding before, from then on I would only appreciate that tiny headache as a welcome reprieve to what real pain could mean.

My ears were ringin'. My eyes were waterin'. My head was screamin'.

We were all on the ground coverin' our heads – letting the blast settle before turnin' to see the black smoke and white-hot flames roilin' off the charred finish of what had once been a family automobile.

It wasn't long after that that every ambulance, cop car, and fire truck the city had to offer were swarmin' around us.

As the EMT tried to clean blood (I kept insistin' wasn't mine) from wounds (I insisted I didn't possess) Kevin only continued to shake his head at me.

“You could've gotten yourself killed.”

Lookin' past him to a nearby ambulance where the family was bein' safely loaded, I smiled, “But look at what we saved.”

We followed the family to the hospital and stayed until we heard word that they were all okay. I'll be honest, even given the fact that the car had blown-up, I was still terrified I'd paralyzed the man havin' no idea whether he'd suffered neck or spine trauma. Turned out, everybody except the dad only suffered minor scrapes and bruises; the mom and older boy had concussions, and the dad had broken his clavicle and pelvic bones (no fault of my own).

The mom even asked to see me.

She was still a little loopy and seemed to be sufferin' time lapses given her concussion, but she still managed to thank Kevin and I relentlessly for savin' their lives.

There was a little nugget I wasn't expectin'. Somewhere between her thanks and mindless rants, she said her husband had been distracted when he saw a girl jump from the cliff, and had wrecked over-correctin' himself. “She had all her clothes on,” she kept sayin'.

I don't know if she knew I was that girl. I don't know if the dad had just been surprised seein' me, or thought I was plummetin' to my death. I did know, that I had been responsible.

Sometimes we do things that unexpectedly effect others. We hope it's a good affect, but not always is this the case, I'm quickly learnin'. The only answer I've yet to find, is in how I respond.

When Kevin finally dropped me off at home late that night, I had been surprised to find he was uncommonly quiet. Always fearful of vexin' him, (a fear I needn't worry over, he assured me as usual) I opened the door with a simple “bye” readyin' myself for a few days of the silent treatment.

“Jeaux,” Kevin said softly.

“Yeah?” I stopped, my heart givin' me a small leap.

“You were wrong before, ya know... Your life does mean something. It's everything to me.”

There were no words. At least none I could find anyhow.

Smilin', he added, “Goodnight Jeaux. Sweet dreams.”

I was still standin' on the sidewalk smilin' stupidly when he pulled away from the curb.

“Goodnight Kevin,” I finally whispered, only movin' when I could see his taillights no more.

Lesson learned: our impulses aren't always right, but our instincts are rarely wrong.