Work In Progress (Drunken Man)

            A drunken man once pointed to the light-polluted midnight sky above New York and told me: “There is an individual star up there, looking for you.”

            Years later, staring up at the night sky above a clearing in the woods, I understood he was right. I’m not sure why the circumstances I was in brought me to this realization, or even what that realization would mean, but through a slightly clouded vision of wood and weed smoke, I could see the light of some distant star trying to navigate its way through light years of black space to make its way to where I was.

Though I was still very young, only seventeen at the time, I had accumulated an abundance of experiences and knowledge. However, I did not do it alone. Those years since the drunken man’s words, I had spent living my life while also steadily observing others—listening, watching, talking and understanding—absorbing what they had lived in order to increase my chances of knowing what that drunken man had said. To increase the possibility that I might someday know what a star was and why one would be looking for me of all people.

             I was about eleven or twelve years old the first time I faced the death of someone familiar. My Great Uncle George had the softest cheeks and largest nose I had ever come across, and even though I only remember him from one visit to our house, the smooth stretch of his cheeks can still be felt between my fingers.

But his velvety face is not the only thing I remember from that visit. For some odd reason at the time, I thought flaring my nostrils was the greatest thing ever and I would walk around showing everyone my amazing talent. When my Great Uncle George saw this and tried it, it became apparent that his nostrils, already the size of nickels, were not up for the task. He scrunched his face in a number of different ways just trying to widen his nostrils the slightest amount, but despite his contorted face, his nose did not move. I tried to teach him and throw him some tips, but at the same time I felt victorious at having defeated someone who had lived almost seven of my lifetimes. I went to bed that night smiling and I woke up the next day with a grin.

That grin was wiped clean, however, when waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs in the morning was a grin seven times larger than my own. Sitting directly above those smiling white dentures was a set of nostrils flared to the size of quarters.

He was as excited as a child on Christmas morning, and went on about how he stayed up all night after I had gone to bed and practiced in the mirror. For hours he had stared at the reflection of his nose, hoping on each try there would be some sign of movement, some sign that even in old age he could still learn new things and beat his great nephew at something. And finally he did it, and I am sure he went to bed smiling that night in the room directly below my own.

As I said, this visit of his to our house is the only memory I have of him and he passed away some time later. There I was at the funeral of a man I hardly knew but still loved very much due to the care he showed me. His funeral was the first I had been to and to my surprise, almost everyone who was crying was crying above a smile. The one speaker I recall was a young-looking man in his thirties or so. I don’t remember who he was but he seemed like he was close to Uncle George—however, all I saw on his face was a smile. His opening line made everyone laugh, even through tears.

“The only 80-year-old I know with a subscription to Playboy.”

With those words, it hit me why everyone was happy on top of their sadness: Uncle George had passed away loved, loving, and happy. His death was not a life being cut short; it was just his fulfilled life coming to a close. I then cried because I would not have a chance to see him again, but I knew everything was perfect as it was.

Five years later I came close to an early death while sitting in the back seat of a Hyundai. Two friends and I had been at a party and a winning streak in beer pong had led to our driver having a couple of drinks. After hanging around for about an hour to sober up, we headed out close to 1:00am. I said bye and gave some dizzy hugs to a few people but I knew I’d probably see them all either the next day or in school Monday.

While we got into the car I caught my friend taking some deep breaths, apparently second-guessing his sobriety, but as he sat behind the wheel I figured he knew his limits and I trusted his judgment. I was too slow to call shotgun so I sat down on my own in the back. It was a nice spring night so I rolled down my window and let my left arm hang out the side. The breeze felt nice and all I could imagine was my nice bed waiting for me at home.

The drive was fine at the start and it was not far to my house so we felt pretty safe. A little over a mile from home my friend was late on the brakes and we rolled slightly through a stop sign. There were headlights coming from the right and in an attempt to avoid the front end of the car from being destroyed, my friend stepped on the gas. We almost made it through but I knew we weren’t going to.

It was a funny feeling, staring at headlights closing in straight at me and knowing we were about to crash but forgetting that crashes like this often result in death. There wasn’t really much time to think, just time to watch.

Contact was made and we went spinning, though while it was happening there was no way to tell if we were sliding or flipping or in the air or on the ground. We finally came to a stop and I looked up to see that my friends were okay. The one driving was freaking out and apologizing profusely but I told him to relax for now because at least we were alive. My other friend was also freaking out and thought his ribs were broken and I told him to relax as well because I knew his ribs were fine. I was freaking out a little but got out my phone to call the police and kept telling the 911 operator that we crashed before I realized she had to redirect me to our local police. Although I know the roads around my house well, I couldn’t remember the name of the street but I was finally able to communicate to them where we were.

Now that the police were on their way, I took the time to look around and take everything in. The door across from me was now a bent mass of metal, foam, and broken glass sitting right next to me like some abstract armrest. My hat was perched atop of that pile and I picked it up, placing it back on my head.

Finally I looked out the window and knew immediately where we had landed. From my seat all I could see was a green industrial tarp, the same one that makes our off-season pool cover at home.

So I said, “We’re on a pool.”

At that same moment, some people came running to our car and one man stepped on to the cover and with a bewildered face, “We’re on a pool!” I couldn’t help but laugh a little because he was so surprised at what he failed to see right in front of him, while I had noticed it even from inside the car.

I opened my door and stepped out onto the tarp and felt my shoes fill with water, but I remembered seeing advertisements for these pool covers with elephants standing on them so I knew were fine. After getting to solid ground at the edge of the pool I saw that the car had three wheels on the cement edge of the pool and one wheel over the pool cover.

I figured I should call home and tell them what happened, and when I did so I made sure to say first that everyone was okay and then follow that with saying we had gotten into an accident. My dad drove over with my brother who was home from college for a few days.

We stood around for a while talking to police and EMTs and some people, including both of my friends, were taken to the hospital just to be looked at. Once everyone started to clear out, I took the time to go look at everything and really see the extent of the damage. Facing the opposite way it came from was a minivan with its front end pretty smashed. Next to that was a section of fence knocked down and skid marks in the grass for about fifty feet leading to where our car rested on the edge of the pool. The back right door was completely crushed and the wheel was tilted in the wrong direction. Pieces of plastic and metal and chunks of glass lay scattered across the lawn and around the car.

            The minivan, which had been going over the 50mph speed limit, had destroyed the one area of our car where no one had been sitting. Had seating been different or had we been a split second slower through the intersection, the outcome would not have been the same as it was.