Dada: Chapter 8b

    I turn the motor off after a few minutes.  No need to waste any more gas than absolutely necessary. Who knows how long we will be sitting here.  It took the ambulances at least five minutes to arrive after the other first responders.  The wreck happened about a half-mile or so down the highway, just barely out of range on the fairly straight stretch.  There looks like an exit ramp just before the crash site, but no one is being allowed to turn off yet.  Must be witnesses or something blocking the path.
   "Would your head really have exploded?" Sam suddenly pipes in.
    "My head?"
   "You know, from your first plane trip.  The reason why we're driving to New York.  The reason why we're struck here."
    "No.  It wouldn't have literally exploded.  A few blood vessels might have started to leak from the pressure, but my head would mostly have stayed in one piece.  The bleeding might have caused problems and pressure to build up on my eyes.  That could have let to some vision loss.  If it had gotten worse, the pressure could have pushed onto the skull, and then onto my brain.  That would have been a serious problem.  Possibly fatal.  That's why they wanted to operate immediately.  Instead, I just put it off."
    "Why didn't you get the operation?"  Sam asks a perfectly good question.
    "I don't know.  It was just easier to forget it ever happened, ignore the problem.  Sure, I would have problems flying in pressurized planes for more than a few minutes, but that wasn't too bad.  I missed out on few things, like Rick's destination wedding in the Bahamas.  Still don't understand that."
    Sam shuts up again.  He fidgets every to often, turning to look out the window.  There's not much out on this section of highway.  Just cars in behind us and an empty road to the left.  Traffic is held up in both directions now, as the rescue crews do their work.
    "How much longer is it going to be?  I can't sit for much longer!" Sam practically howls in frustration.
    "It has only been twenty minutes or so.  Be patient, " I all but lie to him.  There are over a dozen cars that I can see behind us, with more than that in the other lanes.  I keep trying to follow the flashing red and blue lights just barely visible between the long line of cars ahead.  Sam's right, we have been here longer than I thought it would be.  It can only mean one thing, and it wasn't good.
   "How many people do think have died?" Sam asks out of nowhere.  He must have been thinking the same thing.
    "I don't know.  Maybe no one.  It could just be a lot cars involved with some tricky maneuvering to do.  Maybe they're just taking a lot of statements.  Maybe, I don't know . . ." I quit when I remember his parents, my father, and their car crash.  "I'm sorry.  I'll get us off of here I soon as I can."
     Sam stays mum.  I can't believe I said that.  He must be having a harder time than I am.  But there is just nothing else to do.  Every few minutes, I turn on the motor to check on the time and try to get some local emergency coverage on the news.  It is just so boring.
     I keep trying to find something else to do, but the only thing I can do is look at the billboards.  There is this one that I can barely see, as it is partially covered by a nearer one.  All I can see is a 'DR' on its upper left side.  It bothers me that I can't figure out what it could say.  There looks like there might be a house, or some other side of a building, just below it.  I can't get a good enough angle to tell what it is.  I almost want to get out of the car and walk ahead a bit just so that I can get a better look.
   "Something is happening," Sam once again pipes up.
   He's right.  The red flashing lights are moving, down the exit ramp.  It has been almost forty-vie minutes since we were stopped.  The blue lights start up as well, as traffic starts to move.  It takes another three minutes to make it up to the crash site.  A small car was wedged against the median, front crushed into the body.  There's a very small tire nearby, probably a motorcycle, but I don't see any bike until I notice another tire just barely poking up over the median a few yards down.  There is a truck stopped just behind it, with a tarp stretched out beside.  I stop trying to rubberneck as the line goes single file right by it.
  "DRIVE SAFELY"
   "What?" I ask Sam.
   "That's what that billboard says.  The one I couldn't figure out from a distance."
   I look up as we drive by.  The right side featured a happy couple with two small kids, and a truck barreling down the street behind them.