My First Short Story

This is the first short story I ever wrote, a narrative essay for a college literary class I had to take. The accident really happened. It was 1964 and I was six-years-old. A side note to this story: In 1964, seatbelts weren't normally used.

The Car Wreck

I was excited that day because my brothers and I were going to get to watch our father race that night. I was six-years-old and had no premonition I should feel otherwise.

We drove to the speedway without incident. Our station wagon was packed with people; my mom and dad, both of my younger brothers, myself and my parents' friends John and Verna along with their two kids. We were towing my dad's stock car on a trailer behind us. It was fun being a part of such a loud, laughing group. The race went without any surprises. Other than my dad not winning, I can't recall anything else about the race.

We left for home right after the race as it was late and my mom wanted to get us kids to bed. I was in the front seat between my dad and John. I think John had his oldest son sitting on his lap, but I don't remember for sure. I was getting sleepy sitting there listening to the two men as they talked about the race.

Suddenly I was jolted awake by the spinning of the car as it flipped over several times. The strangest part was sensing myself just hanging in mid-air as I watched the dashboard spin wildly in front of me. I was thrown against John when the car settled onto the passenger side and at the same time heard one of the women yell, “Fire!” Then I was lifted up and through the driver's door window. I was set on the roof and pushed towards the ground just as if I were on a really steep slide. It wasn't until I was on the ground that I looked up and saw it was my dad who had pulled me out. I don't know how he got out so fast, I hadn't even had time to realize what had happened and he was already in action.

My dad yelled at me to get away from the car. As I moved away I looked back. The car had fallen into a narrow ditch on the side of the road and big, bright flames were licking all around the underside. Verna, in her haste to save her baby, had lifted her arms through the window and threw him out of the car and onto the road.

Immediately after my mom got out she guided me and my youngest brother, Vance, across to the other side of the road and away from the flames that were now all over the car. I could see the flames were already starting to come through the backseat into the interior of the car. The image the fire cast through the glass was eerie. My parents were checking with John and Verna to make sure all of us kids were out. That's when my mom discovered my five-year-old brother, Scott, wasn't with us. My dad ran back across the road, jumped up onto the side of the car and lowered himself down through the driver's side window. All I could see now was the fire, it had completely engulfed the car and was making a huge roaring sound.

The ambulances and police arrived while I waited to see if my dad would come back out of the car. I was looking at the car and even though I knew my dad and my brother were in there, I felt nothing. My mom ushered me and Vance into an ambulance right away, while yelling to the policemen that my dad and brother were still in the car. My mom wouldn't let me look out the windows, every time I propped myself up on my knees to look out the window she would tell me to sit back down. I kept asking her if dad and Scott were back yet, but she wouldn't answer me. I didn't feel any worry or fear, I just wanted her to answer my question. It seemed like me and Vance sat in that ambulance for an eternity before my mom and Verna got in with the driver and we went to the hospital. I asked her again if dad and Scott were okay and this time she said yes, but I got the feeling she just said it to quiet me down.

When we arrived at the hospital I finally got to see my dad and brother. Dad's hair was singed in the front and smelled funny. Scott's hair was singed all over the top of his head and he had a bloody nose. I heard my dad tell the doctor, as he examined Scott, that he had been trapped down between the front and back seats. The backseat had been on fire, and it was so close and hot that he couldn't see. He had blindly felt around until he found Scott's arm. He grabbed his arm and yanked him into the front seat, then pushed him out the window. Right after my dad carried Scott across the road, the gas tank exploded.

Everyone was okay. My mom had huge bruises going up the sides of her legs and Verna had a bloody cut on her calf, but those were the worst of the injuries. Verna's baby was fine, not a single cut or bruise from landing on the road was evident. Vance, who was only three at the time, was crying because one of his brand-new cowboy boots had fallen off and he hadn't been allowed to go back to the car to get it.

I remember sitting in the lobby of the emergency room after I was examined. I was looking at my brothers when I suddenly started to cry and couldn't stop. I didn't understand why I was crying. I still wasn't feeling anything, not fear, not sorrow, none of the normal emotions that usually made me cry. But I knew I didn't want to cry or worse yet, have anyone see me crying. So I walked over to a big window and stood there with my back to everyone, pretending to look out the window, and cried.

We went home after everyone was checked out. I don't remember how we got home; if the police took us, if we rode in an ambulance, or if a relative came and got us.

The next day we had to go to the junkyard to see what remained of the car and so my dad could give a statement of what happened to the insurance investigator. A policeman was also there waiting for us, looking very concerned. He asked how many had died in the accident and my dad said, “No one.” The officer was amazed and said he had never seen such a bad accident before with so many people in one car and everyone came out alive.

Vance was stubbornly trying to get to the car and see if he could find his boot. I overheard my mother say that her purse had burned up, while at the same time trying to keep my brother away from the still-smoldering car.

My dad's race car that we had towed behind us was fine, not a single mark on it. While our car had flipped over and then landed in a ditch, apparently the hitch had allowed the trailer to stay upright while we were spinning. It didn't go into the ditch with us.

The insurance inspector came out to view the car while we were still there. After he looked it over, I heard him tell the police officer and my dad that it appeared the wreck had been caused by the right rear tire coming off the rim. When the rim hit the pavement it created sparks that flew up into the undercarriage and also caused the car to completely flip the first time. It flipped the second time when we came down on the side of the ditch. The ditch was deep and narrow, which had prevented the car from rolling over a third time onto the roof.

I can still remember not feeling anything; not fear, anger, sorrow or wonder at what had happened to us. But I learned that an accident can happen no matter how careful you are. If it's meant to happen it will, but I always hope I will be as lucky as all of us were that night.