Before I got married, I lived in the barracks on the Marine base where I was stationed, in what was known as the Bachelor Enlisted Quarters (BEQ). Early one Monday morning, I was driving to the base from out in town, and I heard a vehicle accident report on the radio. When they announced the location, it was not only very far from where I would be driving, it was in the opposite direction that I was traveling, and it was also on a road that wasn’t parallel to my route nor perpendicular to it in front of me, so I knew it wouldn’t interfere with my commute, not even collaterally. I put it out of my mind.
Several hours later, I couldn’t get my girlfriend on the phone. This was long before cell phones and the internet, so my only option was to leave voice messages on her answering machine. She never responded all night long. The next morning, I tried again, calling at about the time she’d be getting ready for work. No response. A couple of times that Tuesday morning, I called her office phone, no answer, so I left messages on that answering machine too.
You already know where this is going.
At about noon, I called the office’s main number and spoke with the receptionist, who knew me by name and voice even though we had never met. I joked about how busy my girlfriend must have been because she wasn’t answering or returning my calls. I even joked that I must have been in trouble with her for some reason because it seemed as if she was avoiding me, and I asked if I could be put through to whichever part of the office they had her working. The receptionist, who usually joked right along with me, sounded different that day, and politely asked to put me on hold.
You already know where this is going.
After an extremely long wait on hold, the line finally picked up, but it wasn’t my girlfriend, it was her supervisor. She was also someone I knew by voice and name but had never met. Still cheerful and joking, I told her that it must have been a mistake that I was transferred to her line instead of my girlfriend‘s, and I apologized for bothering her.
You already know where this is going.
Much like the receptionist, she was not her usual self, I noticed that her voice was different somehow. I couldn’t really put my finger on it until her voice cracked, and I asked myself if she was trying not to cry.
You already know where this is going.
She said to me, “I’m sorry to tell you that she had a car accident yesterday morning on the way to work . . . ”
“Is that all?” I quipped, “she’s so clumsy! Ok, ok, just tell me which hospital she’s i, please, and I’ll go see her right away.”
You already know where this is going.
This time she couldn’t hold back the tears. Bursting out crying, she said, “I’m so sorry to tell you that she didn’t survive the accident, she was killed instantly.”
Shock. Disbelief. Horror. Lump in the throat. Ringing in the ears. Brain unable to focus on sensory input.
Fast forward, I don’t know if it was minutes, hours, days, or a week. It slowly and/or suddenly (I can’t remember which) dawned on me that the accident report I listened to that morning was about her.
Rewind to the previous Friday. She had been away on vacation visiting family in another state, and flew back into town that Friday night. I picked her up at the airport and we spent the entire weekend together.
Rewind to Monday morning. I had to get to the base and she had to get to her office. She was always running late, but in that morning, having been on vacation, she knew her work was backed up, so she was trying to leave for work early. She had to dress for corporate, I wore a camouflage uniform. It took me a few minutes to get ready, she took forever. She was rushing around like a crazy, nervous. I was calm, joking around, but I stayed to help her. We left at the same time, I was heading west, she was heading south by southwest. I drove a sedan, she drove a sports car. We parted at the parking lot, she almost burned rubber exiting the driveway.
About three quarters of the way through my commute, I heard a vehicle accident report on the radio. When they announced the location, it was not only very far from where I would be driving, it was in the opposite direction that I was traveling, and it was also on a road that wasn’t parallel to my route nor perpendicular to it in front of me, so I knew it wouldn’t interfere with my commute, not even collaterally. I put it out of my mind.
Guilt. Shame. Self-loathing. Second guessing. Denial. Regret. What ifs. Why didn’t I . . .
You now know where this was going.
It’s been decades now. She was young, single, no children, had lots of plans in life and lots of potential for carrying them out. These words aren’t the only ones that describe her, there are many more.
Rest In Peace, Baby. I still remember you.
“I Will Remember You” by Amy Grant, 1991.
LYRICS:
*Even if you discovered it long, long afterward.
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Close call, I’m glad that she was not hurt!
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Thank you for your concern, my friend.
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my2cents 