I saw the car on the opposite side of the road as I rounded the curve. It was nose down in the deep roadside ditch, the rear wheels, raised off the ground, were still spinning, and steam was rising from under the crumpled hood. I reached for my cell phone as I slowed to a stop a few feet beyond the crash. I described the location to the 911 Operator, and then zipped up my jacket as I exited the car.
It was unusually cold for mid December, the road surface was slick with the ice that was most likely the cause of the mishap. There were no skid marks or signs of a collision to be seen, though I did notice, as I approached, that the car was the same model and color as mine. I could see the driver slumped over to the right; he appeared motionless as he lay across a small pile of brightly wrapped gifts. I tried pulling the driver’s door open, but the dive into the ditch had obviously caused it to buckle; it wouldn’t budge. The unconscious driver didn’t move when I banged on the glass, but I thought that I might be able to reach him through the passenger’s door.
It was quite difficult getting down into the ditch and close to the door; there was ice underfoot, and the bare branches of the roadside bushes kept catching my clothing as I maneuvered myself closer. I had almost reached the door when a loud “whump” came from the front of the car; a small flame appeared and rapidly began to fill the engine compartment. I knew that time was running short as I re-doubled my efforts to reach the driver. I was close enough to see that blood was trickling from one ear.
The sound of emergency vehicles approaching was getting louder, and I prayed that they would get there before the flames found their way to the fuel tank. It seemed like hours had passed before I was finally able to grasp the handle and pull the door open just enough to allow me to wriggle through. The driver was still breathing but unresponsive to my shouting; I didn’t dare try to move him for fear of doing him more harm.
The first responder vehicle pulled to a stop just past the disabled car, two people jumped from the passenger compartment and quickly surveyed the situation as they gathered their gear from the rear of their truck. One carried a fire extinguisher to the front of the car and began fighting the fire that was getting larger by the second. The other fellow carried a tool that appeared capable of breaking the driver’s side window in short order, and some sort of hydraulic apparatus that could probably pry the door open. He shouted as he asked “Is he alive”? I nodded to indicate that was the case, and then heard him yell, “Cover his head and get out of there… use your jacket.” I quickly stripped the jacket off, placed it over the unconscious man’s head, and then wriggled my way out as the fireman broke through the window.
I thought, as I crawled up out of the ditch, that there was nothing more I could do, so I crossed to the opposite side of the road as I watched the firemen work. The first man had successfully extinguished the engine compartment fire, and was now helping to extract the still unconscious driver from the vehicle. I hadn’t noticed the ambulance crew arrive, but they were close by with a stretcher and a bag of medical equipment ready to be put to use.
It was growing noticeably darker as the firemen worked, and I thought it strange since it was only a little past noon. It appeared, as I watched them remove the driver, that daylight was restricted to a ten foot diameter circle that surrounded only the objects at which I looked. I could see the unconscious man lying on the stretcher, the paramedics working to check his vital signs and airway, and then noticed, to my increasing alarm, that the diameter of the circle of light was quickly growing smaller; it disappeared entirely as I felt something cover my nose and mouth, then there was nothing.
I tried to alert the firemen to what was happening, but was unable to utter a sound. I tried to form the word “HELP!” but could neither move my lips, nor fill my lungs to scream; I felt completely paralyzed and utterly helpless, but somehow at peace.
The light appeared after an indeterminate amount of time had passed; it looked like a tiny bright pinhole in a field of black. The brightness was actually hurting my eyes, and it was increasing both in area and intensity. I felt the first surge of panic – fear of the unknown – begin to well up inside me, but that was quickly replaced by a feeling of wellbeing. I tried to turn my head away from the light, but realized that there was nothing to turn; I felt (and this is really strange) bodiless. I began to think. “Oh, this is that dead thing. I’m dead and being drawn to the light. I’ve always wondered what’s on ‘the other side’, and now I’m going to find out.”
I was aware of some vague movement in the distance, not the movement of any discernible form, but movement nonetheless. I fully expected a disembodied voice to greet or welcome me, but nothing was to be heard. I wondered if I would be able to hear a sound if one was to be made, I was, after all, without form. The only thing that I actually perceived was that overwhelming feeling of wellbeing and the bright light, which I noticed was beginning to fade.
“Great,” I thought, “I’ve just been rejected. What next?”
The bright light reappeared without warning, causing me to squint in an attempt to shut it out; I hesitated to think what it might portend following my previous rejection. A voice said “He’s coming around, his pupils are reacting normally.” I appeared to be in a hospital room; a doctor was examining me. I tried to speak, but was unable because of a breathing tube in my trachea – the paramedics had evidently intubated me after things went black at the accident scene.
“You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Parkhurst; it seems that someone was watching over you. The rescue team was just returning from a call when they saw your car skid into that ditch. If they hadn’t have been there to douse the fire, we wouldn’t be talking now. Well, to be more precise, you wouldn’t have been here to hear me talking to you.”
My mind was racing as I thought “That wasn’t me that ended up in the ditch; I called 911 when I came upon the scene. I watched the rescue, I saw them… I saw… What exactly did I see?” I was thoroughly confused.
“Rest now, Mr. Parkhurst” the doctor said, reassuringly, “you’re going to be alright. I’ll be back to see you in the morning.” The feeling of wellbeing descended on me once again, soothing the pain in the process. I slept peacefully.
F. A. Zedik
12-29-03