Narrative

When Time Seemed to Slow Down

    
      There I was. There I was, sitting in the little red Toyota truck that my parents bought not 6 months earlier. There I was, watching as time slowed to a near stop, giving me all the time I could possibly want to think of what I have done, what I am currently doing, and what was bound to happen to me in what seemed like years, but in reality would only be a few moments. There I was, wondering how I came to be in such a horrifying situation, even though I knew how. There I was, fearing the end result and wondering why, with time moving as slow as it was, I didn’t just step out of the truck as it screeched to that dreadful stop. There I was feeling the firm, but comfortable cushion of the seat that I gripped with the indomitable strength of a man fearing for his life. Yet I was not a man, I was only 11, a mere boy in any circumstance. I could not help but wonder how this could be happening to me.

      What seemed like only moments before, I was helping my older brother, Chase, who was only 13 at the time, shovel sand out of the back of my grandpa’s truck. I recall it being especially hot that day. I could feel the sun beat down through my thin sleeveless shirt, bringing beads of sweat sliding down my face and back. The sand was for the base of a swimming pool. I could not wait to feel that cool, soothing water douse the searing heat of the sun and wash the sweat from my body. I could almost smell the chlorine of the water, however unpleasant it may be, that smell had been sweeter than that of a rose. This was the moment when everything started going terribly wrong. My brother has always been quick to anger and easily provoked. However, I always accepted this, I knew he could not help it. In that moment, I did not know exactly why or what had triggered him.

      I was wheeling the sand back and forth in a wheelbarrow, hard work at the time, but it became progressively easier as I entered a kind of trance brought on by constant repetitive motion. Once, twice, three times, over and over, back and forth. I pushed that wheel barrow, with its smooth, cushioned wooden handles, for what seemed like an eternity. I came to a halt on one particular trip when I had noticed that my brother seemed perturbed at something.

      “What's wrong, chase?” As I asked this question, I stopped close to him anticipating a response.

      “Shut up, stupid!” This was obviously not the response was looking for. To make matters worse, I received a face full of sand, launched at high velocity, from my brother’s shovel. Anger, sadness, and annoyance all rushed me into an emotional roller-coaster. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I ran away crying like any child would, for it was all I could do. I ran into my house, which was a two story town house, painted yellow with blue trim, blurry eyed from a mixture of tears and coarse sand.

     Next thing I knew, I was sitting in that same red Toyota. I could still feel that sand crashing into my face, flooding my eyes with the scratchy coarseness of a beach. I watched out the window, frequently rubbing at my eyes as my dad berated my brother for his cruel actions. I could not hear them, but I could tell the emotions portrayed were heated and angry. I watched as my father sternly, but lovingly, gestured every which way, emphasizing my brothers wrongs. I then watched as my brother, beaten and dejected, ambled into the house, moving much like a man who just had his dignity crushed. My dad then walked over and entered the driver side of the truck.

     “Are you alright?” asked my dad with caring eyes. “Here, let me see.” He then leaned over for a closer look at my face.

     “It still stings a little when I blink,” I added as he gently inspected my eyes, first the left, then the right. He then added, reassuringly, “Oh, you will be fine, the sand will wash out, given some time.” He then proceeded to pull out of our faded paved driveway, and there I was again. There I was sitting on those firm, padded seats, with my dad in the driver’s seat. There I was, watching with anticipation as the world slowed around us, and another truck came hurtling past a stop sign. There I was, seemingly slowly launched forward as my dad slammed on the brakes. There I was, watching my short life pass before my eyes, and the heavily loaded trailer behind us pushed our truck forward. There I was, helpless as our two vehicles collided. Then, nothing.