The Accident

A Diaspora West African short story about trauma and understanding the rules of the road

Apr 20, 2024

On the third Saturday of every month, Mary-Ann, a single mother navigating life post-divorce, embraced a routine that carved out quality time with her 11-year-old son, Gary. The day's weather, while slightly overcast, spared them from the oppressive summer heat, providing a welcome respite following the recent thunderstorms. Mary-Ann hopped into her black SUV, picked up Gary from his father’s place, and drove to their familiar spot: a cozy pastry shop within the bustling mall. En route to the shop, Gary enjoyed playing with his mom's smartphone.

Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.

Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.

In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.

"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.

Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."

He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.

"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"

Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."

Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.

"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”

Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.

Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.

“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”

“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.

“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.

"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”

"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."

“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.

“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.

“The old man?”

Gary nodded.

Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."

Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.

"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.

“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”

Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.

“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.

Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.

And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.

“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.

Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”

Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."

Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.

“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.

“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.

“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”

“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”

Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.

“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.

Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade.One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.

“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.

“Mommy, stop please!”

Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.

In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.

"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"

“Ma’am?”

“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”

Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”

“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.

“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.

There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.

“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.

She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.

“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.

Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.

Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.

Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.

Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”

Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.

Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son

"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.

But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."

"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.

“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”

“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”

Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.

“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.

Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.

Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.

Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.

She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.

Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.

The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.

“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”

The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.

“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.

"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.

Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.

“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”

Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.

“Ms. Brown?”

Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”

“Officer.”

A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”

“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.

Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.

Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.

“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.

“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”

“Stable as in?”

The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”

“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”

The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."

“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.

“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.

“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.

“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.

The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”

“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.

“30 minutes TOPS.”

“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.

“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.

“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”

“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”

"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.

“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.

“Can you be more—”

Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.

As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.

Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”

“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”

Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"

Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.

"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."

Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.

Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”

“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”

Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."

Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.

“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”

“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”

“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”

Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."

Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.

"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.

Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”

“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”

“Double yellow?”

“The double yellow line.”

Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.

“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”

Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.

Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.

“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”

“YES. SIR”