by Meghann Willard
The car speeds along the highway, skidding slightly as it hits the icy patches hidden under snow, slowing and accelerating with the curves and dips. The headlights light up the thousands of tiny, starlike snowflakes against the backdrop of black night, giving her the feeling of driving at light speed.
As the flakes hit the windshield, the wipers push them off the glass, momentarily clearing her view of the road with each whispering swoosh. Weariness envelops her; sleep is her opponent. Hasn't she read somewhere that falling snow has a hypnotic effect?
She reaches over and lowers the window a few centimetres. There. The icy wind hits her face and shocks her into alertness. Little bits of snow and ice sneak in through the open crevasse, biting her forehead, melting in her hair. She ignores them. They are helping in her losing battle against sleep.
The radio makes barely audible murmurs from the speakers at the back of the car. She recognizes a song she likes and turns it up. Softly singing along, she rolls up the window.
Has the snow started to fall harder? Half-closed eyelids somewhat hinder vision. She realizes that she also has not been paying close enough attention, and the car has drifted over to the other side of the road. She reduces her speed and returns the car to its lawful position. She squints to line the car up with the reflective strip painted along the right side of the highway, but the snow has had it long covered. Finding it almost impossible to see, she silently thanks God that it is late and she has not yet met any other cars.
Finally, the enemy snow begins to relent. Then stops.
She stares out the windshield in amazement. Only a few flakes remain, sadly twirling around in the empty air, looking for homes. The wipers protest loudly against the window, reminding her to turn them off. She absently reaches for the control to give them their much needed break, but her hand brushes the dashboard. Taking her eyes from the road, she slowly looks for the mechanism to make the loudly screeching wipers stop. She finds it and flicks the switch. She also reaches down and turns off the radio. Silence envelops the car. She looks up to continue driving and finds the car on a direct path for the ditch on the other side of the road. She wrenches the wheel to the right just in time to see the eyes of the dog, wide with fright, reflect the light of the headlights. It is standing directly in front of the car, not moving, accepting its coming fate. She tries valiantly to spare it by jerking the wheel back to the left, but the car is stubborn and the road, slippery. It continues forward.
There is a sickening thump as the front bumper connects with the dog's left flank. The vehicle finds a piece of dry pavement and jerks to the left. She feels the dog's body go under the tires. The car, out of control, spins in a complete circle before coming to a stop. The front headlights light up the corpse lying in the road. Its back is to the car, but she can see the fawn coloured fur begin to become dark with blood. What have I done? She asks the silence, Oh, please, don't belong to a family, please...
Tears begin to run down her cheeks. She should have been paying closer attention. She should not have been driving when she knew quite well how tired she was. She stares at the corpse through the windshield, and realizes that she cannot possibly leave it in the middle of the road. It could cause an accident, or an unwelcome scene for an unsuspecting family.
She puts on her gloves and opens the door of the car. The cold shocks her, but the tragedy has already banished all signs of weariness from her tired body. She approaches the corpse in a trance, murmuring, "Forgive me. Oh, please, forgive me." Don't look at its face, just pull it off the road, she orders herself. She purposefully walks toward the dog, looking, instead, at the snow beside its back.
A soft whine shocks her into staring directly into the dog's face. She rushes over to see it more closely, and recognizes it as the golden retriever belonging to a nearby family. Her eyes fill with fresh tears as the whining becomes more urgent. What have I done? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...
She cannot leave him here. She must bring him to a vet to save his life! It is her fault, her mistake, now she must fix it! She thinks of how to get him into the car and remembers the blanket covering the backseat. She goes to the car to retrieve it She frantically spreads the blanket out over the snow next to the dog. The sooner I get him to a vet, the more chance he has, she thinks.
He lies on his right side, back to her, slowly bleeding to death. She tries to move him onto the blanket, but he growls when she puts her hands near his torn, leaking abdomen. Desperately, she tries again. This time, he snaps at her. She yanks her hand away, taken aback at the dog's obvious rejection to her help. Her tears of guilt turn to tears of anger. It serves you right, you stupid mutt. What did you expect to happen running around on the road in the middle of a bloody snow storm? She thinks, angrily snapping the blanket away.
The dog looks at her, his eyes pleading. She looks away, immediately realizing that it was not his fault any more than hers. Ashamed at her outburst, she crouches down near the dog and lightly strokes his ears, as if in apology. His ribcage rises and falls in quick, gasping breaths. His fur is now dark from the blood seeping out of the open wounds on his belly and under his front legs. The dog's back legs are twisted at odd angles, a bone protrudes from the mess.
She cannot believe that she could have been the cause of such physical devastation, but she has, and her carelessness has lead to this dog's loss. The dog feebly reaches over and licks her hand, as if to forgive her. A small, painful cry erupts from his mouth, brought on by his effort. She looks into his eyes and realizes what she must bring herself to do.
She stands up, looking down at him, slowly dying. She whispers, "I'm sorry." Her tears hit the fur on his front legs, still golden, still beautiful, still alive. He looks at her, understanding, and puts his head down in the snow. He closes his eyes, patiently waiting.
She turns slowly, and trudges back to the car. At the door, she looks back, and cannot help but wish that she had never gotten out in the first place. It is too late for that now.
The car starts easily. Silently weeping, she buckles her seat belt and shifts the car into drive, taking as long as possible to lift the brake.
The left side of the car lifts as she drives over the dog. She hits the brake, rests her head on the wheel, and sobs, choking on her tears. Why? Why? Why? Why? She is barely able to see through the warm salt waterfall running down her face, soaking the scarf tightly wrapped around her neck. A second lurch of the car tells her that it is over and she can go home.
She stares in the rearview mirror for a long time, watching the still body silhouetted by the red of the taillights. It does not move, and never will again all because of her! She feels that she should be punished somehow. She destroyed an innocent creature, depression and guilt make her feel that she deserves the same. But sense comes back, and she remembers the way the dog looked at her, understanding what had happened, accepting its coming death. She realizes that it is not her fault, it is just the way that things happen.
Life goes on, she thinks, then looks back at the receding image in the rearview mirror, but not for everyone. She wipes her eyes, looks back to the road, and lets out a long sigh.
What do you think?
[hairy legs] [home cooked meal] [in your hands] [all night]