In the Headlights

I saw you up ahead, you and your mate, but only for a moment. I braked but didn’t swerve; stayed in a straight line just like we’re told to do. And if you’d only kept running I would have passed safely behind you. Your mate had already stopped and was safe. It would have been alright. Instead you panicked and turned back the way you came. You almost made it, I thought you’d made it, but there wasn’t enough time. And you were no match for me. You didn’t even make much of a noise. But I knew how hard I’d hit you. I knew.

The driver behind me stopped as well and the pair of us walked back together.

"What was it?" he asked. I told him and his face mirrored mine.

I’m not a praying man, but as I made my way along the road I was wishing with all my heart. "Please let it be dead, please let it be dead".

We found you by the side of the road, much further back than I’d thought. You were lying prone and still, curled up as if you were asleep. As if you could be sleeping, here with all those vehicles roaring by only inches from you. I breathed as sigh of relief. Thank goodness, you were dead.

Then you lifted your head and those enormous liquid eyes looked right into my soul. You told me of your pain, your suffering, your fear.

"Why?" you asked, "Why did you do this?"

I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, I really didn’t. I was paying attention, honestly I was. I wasn’t even going fast. It’s just one moment you weren’t there, the next moment you were. And I braked. I was slowing down. But you turned and ran back. And there wasn’t enough time.

Cell phone reception is unreliable up here, but after a few moments hesitation the signal came through loud and clear. The dispatcher was very kind though it was hard for us to talk over the roar of the traffic so she suggested I get back in my car. And I had to leave you, frightened and in pain. I didn’t want to leave you.

"No, I’m not hurt. No, there are no other vehicles involved. Yes, my car is safely off the road." Then we started talking about you, the reason for my call. You were off the main highway, I told her, but in a turning lane. Another vehicle could easily hit you in the dark. I was worried about the additional suffering this would cause you. She of course was concerned for the other vehicle.

"I know this won’t be pleasant" she told me, "but could you drag it to the side of the road?"

"No ma’am" I told her, "I can’t do that."

She hadn’t heard me say you were still alive.

So instead she had me back my car up to you. My car, which had caused you so much misery, was now shielding you, protecting you. In a tragically pitiful way, helping to ensure you suffered no more than you had to for your final minutes in the world.

The local sheriff arrived first. A badge, a uniform, authority. Someone who could take charge. I explained what had happened. I took him to you and I could tell from his face that he was sorry too. I expected him to unclip his gun but instead he pulled out a billy club. A dead weight on a telescopic arm. Could I stand here and watch as he hit you? Break your neck, break your skull? Yes, I would have to watch it. I owed that to you. Squeamish cowardice at this time would be a further insult to the end of your beautiful life. But instead he merely reached forward and gently touched your eyeball. No reaction. Mercifully, you had finally moved on.

Donning protective gloves he carried you off the blacktop and onto the grass verge. I noticed there was litter by your head and absent mindedly, picked it up and took it away. Just a token effort but I wanted your surroundings to be as close to natural as was possible. We had to wait on the State Patrol; apparently you were their jurisdiction. So the two of us checked my car; the first time I’d really looked. A light cover was gone, part of the bumper was missing, the spoiler bent back. Nothing much really. Nothing to show how much the damage had cost you. I pulled the spoiler back into place. I can replace the light cover tomorrow. It would be more than the car’s worth to fix the rest so I’ll need to leave it as is. Which means I’ll see it every day. Which means I’ll see you every day.

State Patrol arrived a few minutes later. He looked half my age, but he carried an air of calm authority I suspect I’ll never have. He’s seen it all before of course, but really at this point, there was nothing more for him to do. I’d to fill out an accident report, which gave me fifteen lines to say what I was able to say in 2. I saw you. I braked. You turned. I hit you. What else was there to add? That you were beautiful? That you were only in your second or third year? That your eyes were black pools of pain that communicated your feelings to me as clearly as if you spoke my language? That I’ll carry you with me for the rest of my days? I couldn’t write that. So instead, I said what happened. "I saw you. I braked. You turned. I hit you."

"Try not to feel bad." said the sheriff "It happens. It’s part of living in the mountains."

"It’s my first" I told him.

"I’ve hit three. It doesn’t get any easier." He replied.

Business done, it was time to go. To leave you like any other piece of highway debris. In the next few days the county workers will come with a winch and take you away, who knows where. Hopefully you’ll provide food for some other animals, or nourishment for the soil. I took solace from the fact that you of course, were gone. This was just your body; the vehicle you used for getting around during your short time on earth. You’re running free somewhere, beginning the cycle yet again.

You almost made it, I thought you’d made it, but there wasn’t enough time.


This article appeared in Issue # 114 of Mountain Gazette in June, 2005.