It's 3:41am and moments ago I was about to call it a late night. I had shut off my lights, crawled under the covers when the unmistakable squeal of rubber on pavement caught my attention...it lingered long enough that I began to anticipate the rupturing rumble of crumpled metal. And then as though scripted, the noise explosion occurred.
I jumped from my bed and moved toward the window facing West End Ave. Right where the road joins a low stone wall and then drops several feet rested a lone Lexus with axles and wheels upright. This end of West End is not so well traveled this time of night, so it only felt natural to throw on today's jeans, a pair of flops, grab my cell, and sprint the distance of MBA's freshly watered field where the car had landed.
By the time I reached the wrecked vehicle two others had stopped to be of aid. One gentleman already had 911 on the phone, and another was talking to the driver who was, at best, disoriented. After a few moments passed, he began assuring us that he was alright, although obviously shaken...and intoxicated.
I think he was ok, and the situation lacked many a dangerous element that could have made it really terrible. The engine wasn't leaking gasoline, the driver seemed uninjured, he wasn't trapped inside, and he didn't hit anyone else. There are a hundred things that could have made it worse, but walking away, back home through the sloshy grit of sand and freshly laid sod, I couldn't help imagining what I would do if anyone who I value and love had been in his place.
It made me nauseous.