Decide to be kind

I sit upright and realize I’m confined in a newly cramped space, feeling the pressure of my immediate surroundings. I sense the inexplicable change in environment. My legs are tight in my jeans. My thighs burn. I look down, there’s no fire but the tingling is inescapable. My chest is compressed and further squeezed like a corset. My eyes move slowly from side to side. The absence of sound is unnerving. A puff of smoke rises and dissipates in front of me. I lower my eyes slightly and view a new material, one I have never seen before.

My car in white. Hers in silver.

The blanks start to fill in. I look up and see the magnificence of the clear spring sky. Looking down, I recognize fabric belts are strangling my body. I know I have to do something, but it takes several moments to react. Sluggishly, I reach for my purse. I remember I’m not alone when I see him. My sweet new canine baby sits perfectly still on the floor mat in my right peripheral vision.

I maneuver to reach him. It’s not enough. I unbuckle the snare that holds me still and carefully coax him into my arms placing him on my lap. I sense I’m swollen, but my attention has turned to the ten pounds of innocence I'm comforting.

The other driver's back bumper. Notice the first sticker: "Decide to be kind."

I pet and hold him, ensuring him he will be okay. Silently, I wonder if I’m making promises I can’t keep. Instinctively, I look up and see her move. She opens her car door as if she’s just parked at the grocery store. She stumbles out onto the street near the double yellow line, grabbing the frame of her car door.

“She’s drunk. She’s fucking drunk,” I say aloud to no one, bringing noise back into my realm.

There’s a knock on my window. My attention is interrupted.

A stranger, an older gentleman, invites me to roll it down and I become aware my car is on and has stalled. I do as he requests. He pokes his head inside and asks if I’m OK. I don’t know and say as much. I hurt. Everywhere. He suggests I hold his hand. I take it with a limp one of my own.

“Hold it,” he says. “Hold it tightly.”

I squeeze. Hard. The sensations and smoothness of his skin are familiar. I feel a pulse and am instantly transported to a time when my hero told me he had given up his cancer battle. I said I understood. He asked to hold my hand and when I gave it to him, I lost my composure. I couldn’t comprehend how this would cease to exist.

But, today, it’s him. I know it.

The stranger asks what he can do, letting me know emergency services have already been called. I mutter about the little one on my lap.

“I need to know he’s OK,” I say.

He looks down and sees big brown eyes staring back at him.

A voice comes from behind me. I slowly turn to face it, but my head throbs and I return myself to face forward. I saw him, nestled between two parts of the back seat – one section down and the other upright. Words are spoken in his deep tone.

Tears fall from my eyes, indifferent to the bystanders congregating near the mess or the one holding my hand.

The stranger gently lets go of my hand. The connection is broken. He slowly and carefully takes the sweet boy from my lap, assuring me he’ll get him to the vet. He leaves.

The tears fall more furiously until I feel a loving squeeze on my right bicep. “I’m glad you’re OK. I was so worried about you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I answer.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this.”