The Perception Changing Crash

My grade school mind raced as I stared out of the back passenger car window. Last night’s Mission Impossible episode was so cool that I projected spy like perspectives into my view. I scanned the surroundings and determined that the parked car across the street from the gas station pump where we sat was more than just a car. Something was about to happen and I needed to figure it out before…

Parked CarDad opened the car door and leaned over toward mom. She had the vacation cash for the trip and he needed money to pay the gas station attendant. But I didn’t let that distraction take me away from the adventure at hand. I had to piece together the puzzle before it was too late.

As dad walked into the station, I focused on the car across the street. Had it been abandoned with a bomb planted in it? Or, was it filled with drugs and dropped off for a later pick up? National security needed my best speculation and I had to figure it out before my dad returned to the car. Maybe the car was placed there as a deterrent to block someone’s movement until a hitman could take him out?

The sound of a motorcycle revved into my view from the far right side. I knew in an instant the man was about to be taken out. In my periphery I could see my dad exiting the gas station counting his change. His timing couldn’t be better.

I fixed my eyes on the motorcyclist as he zip through the intersection and headed straight for the parked car. I braced for the impact, knowing that he would be shot by a sniper and taken out before he could steer around the car.

My eyes widened as I watched the motorcycle ram into the back end of the car. The cyclist was tossed over the car and onto the street. The thud of the impact made my stomach feel nauseous, as I watched the man bounce twice on the pavement. When his body came to a stop he was motionless. I had just witnessed a motorcycle accident and I wondered if the man was dead.

Perspective Changing CrashI was startled as my dad’s car door opened. I pointed across the street and told him that a motorcycle had just crashed. My dad turned to see the mangled cycle. His head slowly moved in the direction of traffic and spotted the man on the pavement. He immediately shouted to the gas attendant to call the police and report the accident.

Dad stuck his head in the window and asked mom to pull the car to the side to clear the pumps for the next customer, while he helped clear the traffic until the police arrived. The traffic was becoming congested with gawkers.

The sound of my dad’s police whistle resounded in the area and cars immediately obeyed his waved directions. Being dressed in his weekend clothes didn’t matter, as all drivers respected the authority he commanded. The first police car arrived and one of the officers took over the directing of traffic.

My mom instructed us not to look at the horrible sight, as the thought of death was making her stomach queasy and she didn’t want us to experience anything bad. She even tried to involve us in singing happy songs, but all I could do was wonder how my make believe was perfectly timed with the devastating crash.

What were the odds? Could a grade schooler’s mind impact reality?

My mind was flooded with questions and thoughts about the moment, which may have saved me from the realization that I had just witnessed a man’s death. The experience was terrible and no one in the family ever brought it up again except for me. I had to share how my dad put our vacation on hold long enough to help the local police.

Having watched a real crash at such a young age altered my perception of motorcycles. While I could handle driving mini-bikes on a camping trail later in my youth, I could never bring myself to driving a motorcycle on the street. Nor was I comfortable twenty years later losing two friends to motorcycle accidents. I also struggled when my cousin had to make life changing adjustments after his motorcycle accident made him a paraplegic.

The odd thing about all of these motorcycle accidents was that not one of them happened to me, yet my emotions took a significant hit each time.

But what ever happened to that man? Did he feel a rush as his body was tossed over the car? Did he feel the intense pain of his landing on the pavement? When his body bounced a second time, did his spirit bounce out of his body like in the movies?

These questions filled my grade school mind well into my teen years and beyond, with no available source to provide the answers. It was a hard lesson to realize that some questions never get answered. And most accidents never bring closure. In this case, I never learned why the man drove straight into a parked car as if he never saw it.

Copyright © 2014 by CJ Powers
art © fotolia.com

Trapped in a Friendless Life

Terrell was weak. Not from the loss of blood dripping from his stool that flushed out of sight, although it did give cause for concern, but from his inability to find a true friend. Months after the lay-off his friends dissipated one after another along with his health.

His swelled belly was wrought with starches from food pantries. Not a single handout was healthy. Most were discarded foods that some man bought for his wife by mistake. She’d generously drop off the bag to a food pantry on her way to pick up the right items.

Still, there were days when Terrell was fortunate to receive a few dollars to spend on a greasy fast food burger in order to increase his caloric intake. He didn’t mind the extra fats, as it would seep through his pores and slow the chaffing on his face caused by the inability to groom properly.

Finding a place to lay his head at night was never a problem, but one with a shower and body wash was better. He was fortunate to find two such locations each month, so he positioned his interviews for the morning after those stays. The locations also provided a filling breakfast that gave him the fuel needed for the interview process.

The interviews were seldom productive. Most of the companies ran background checks and learned that he had lost his house a year after the lay-off. His age was also a deterrent, as they were looking for a thirty-something, not someone who had crossed into his fifties. Besides, the hiring manager was usually intimidated by his vast knowledge of the industry and figured there had to have been more to his lay-off than meets the eye.

Terrell did try to dumb down his resume. But the interviewer always made him comfortable, causing him to answer every question truthfully, which revealed his great knowledge and life long wisdom. This response made it obvious that he was far overqualified for the position. Few hiring managers would hire someone that, once back on his feet, would probably find a higher level position within the year and leave. The remaining managers were afraid he’d eventually come gunning for his or her job.

All of these frustrations bothered Terrell, but far less than not having a true friend with whom he could speak openly. The few fringe friends always wanted him to quickly fix his problem, rather than allow him to talk through his issues. Then there were those “friends” who positioned themselves for the day that Terrell would land back on his feet, hoping they would be found in his good graces, especially since there was word on the street that he was being quietly groomed and reviewed for a high position once he met certain criteria.

The unspoken criterion was a frustration that stood all on its own. Terrell wished he had a friend to talk through what the possible criteria might be and what side of the tracks generated the conditions. Were they people who wanted to use his gifting and ability to communicate or a camp of people desiring his demise, who seemed to have the upper hand based on his circumstances?

Terrell had a passion that if funded would change the way society viewed life. It was an incredible power that seemed squandered in a man that was rich in ability, but trapped on skid row. His enemies would be devastated if he ever found his way out. But for now, they were thankful that his allies were keeping him in humble circumstances that was taking a toll on his health, which might soon give permanent strength to Terrell’s enemies.

Tears welled in his eyes as Terrell dropped his shoulders to relax. The shelter he arrived at for the night was one of his favorites and had a woman gifted in affirmation to sooth his soul. Her kind words caused him to reflect on remarrying some day, but he knew his experiences would keep him from such a gentle woman.

But it didn’t matter, as few women would attempt a relationship with an unemployed man. While it’s hard to fall in love with someone who is living out his worst scenario in life, it’s even harder to fall in love with such a man that will radically change once he is resuscitated back to normal society. Trapped men always snap back to life with far more power than anyone expects, making sure no one ever has the ability to put him down in the future.

Terrell was never a man who desired control or an abundance of power. In fact, it scared him because his morals were stretched every time he was forced to live a life contrary to who he was made to be. His only solace in those times would be a close friend that he could trust, which no longer existed.

There were plenty of people who were friendly to him, but no one would dare cross one of Terrell’s enemies. Nor would they interfere with his silent supporters that put him in his uncomfortable predicament in order to test his resolve and learn if he was driven by pride or humility. The risk was too high and the manipulation seemed to be for his good, so most just avoided any close contact.

However, there were a few false friends that would step in and out of his life long enough to report back on the condition of his heart. The reports were somewhat confusing, as Terrell always had a great outlook on life. His judges couldn’t tell if he was being arrogant about his future, or humbly making powerful faith filled statements. So, they purposely increased his suffering to learn the truth.

The testing continued for years and Terrell was unable to guess how he needed to act in order to stop the turmoil. Clearly those sent to check on him weren’t able to tell where he was coming from and his calculated behaviors that he assumed would stop the testing never did. His suffering continued to his detriment.

The night finally came when Terrell’s bleeding was so significant that he lay in bed crying. He only had $11.23 in his jeans, very short of his health insurance co-pay. Every hour he’d walk into the bathroom and sit on the throne, praying that he wouldn’t loose too much blood as it dripped into the bowl.

He finally had weakened to the point of no return and laid in his bed with tears dripping down his face. He didn’t fear dying and even wondered if anyone would ever miss him. But he was thankful someone would at least find him in the morning. He had wished it would be a friend who might care for him if he survived the night, but he knew that friendship was no longer possible in his worthless state.

With a deep breath and lonely resolve, Terrell realized that most people around him had friendships of convenience, rather than friendships of love. And he knew that his life was not convenient for anyone to participate or care about. So he closed his eyes and whispered his goodbye to the world.

The next morning a volunteer nudged Terrell’s body. Her warm touch caressed his face as she told him it was time to get up. His eyes popped open with a look of surprise followed by a warm smile. He was alive and could tell that his bleeding had stopped.

Confidence rose in his heart and he knew that he had been gifted with another day of life. He immediately got cleaned up and started to strategize on how to start a new future that included true friends and a good job. He was ready to go for it, regardless of his enemies and those who were trying to manipulate his future. After all, it was a new day and he had enough strength to live it.

Copyright © 2014 by CJ Powers

The Admiral and the Signal

This is a short story I shared at a recent gathering.

There’s an old urban legend that unfolded in the pacific about an Admiral who took command of a ship.

The ongoing battle had stopped as the intense storm rose. The Captain of the ship was headed back to port when the Admiral took over in the choppy waters. Not because of the Captain’s dereliction of duties, but rather due to the Admiral’s inability to do nothing.

The pitch-black storm made maneuvering difficult and radio static forced the Admiral to require the presence of a signalman on the bridge and not a moment too soon. Everyone could see the blinking light in the distance off the ship’s bow and the signalman quickly interpreted it.

The signal flashed, “Divert your course 15 degrees to portside to avoid collision.”

The Admiral was incensed and commanded that the return message state, “Divert your course 15 degrees to port to avoid collision.”

The signalman cringed, as he read out loud the response to the Admiral, “No, I repeat, divert your course.”

The Admiral’s face filled with rage from the disrespectful response. He demanded that the signalman request the rank of the one sending the message.

A simple reply followed, “Petty Officer 2nd Class.”

With that the Admiral’s chest puffed up and he sent another message reading, “You are communicating with an Admiral, divert your course.”

The signalman nervously read the next response, “Unable to comply, divert your course.”

The Admiral grabbed the signal light and flashed it himself, “We are a battleship destroyer, divert your course.”

The Admiral and signalman stood in amazement as they watched the return message, “This is a lighthouse. Your call.”

No matter how high we get in our work, social or family life, we always need the insights and perspectives of others. It’s therefore prudent to be a good listener before demanding that our choice is implemented.