|
On the edge of a mountain road On a warm August afternoon, I suggested to my husband that we go out for supper when he got off work. It was just too hot to cook. He agreed, and I changed into a dress and sandals while he closed up the office. Driving to the local barbecue diner, we decided to take a quick detour to our new home construction site, about 4,200 feet in elevation from where we were. It was nice and cool. We got out of the car to watch the sun set. On our descent, a truck approached. John pulled over and stopped. All of a sudden the road started to crumble beneath the front passenger tire, flipping the entire car over the edge of the mountain. My husband hadn’t fastened his seat belt. As we flipped, his body crashed into mine (I was fastened in). His head smashed into the roof. The car stopped when we hit a massive buckeye tree. The rollovers broke all the glass, bent the rearview mirrors into the windows, smashed glass all over my legs, and the dashboard splintered into my feet. Not knowing if the car would explode from impact, we had to get away. We crawled out of the driver’s side window. We clawed and groveled our way up the side of the mountain to get away from the car. The truck driver had stopped and threw us a short piece of rope. The roadway collapsed under his feet, and he tumbled down. We grabbed thorny brush, weeds, anything to pull ourselves up. I was bleeding a lot from my legs and feet. The guys put me in the truck to transport me to an area where we could get a cell phone signal to call EMS. What did I learn?
Bobbi Oubre |
|
