Someone…

It’s 2am and I’m hauling ass down the freeway, head thrown back and howling this Spanish pop song that I love. I’m sweaty and happy, having just salsa danced the night away with friends at Tapas. The city all around me sleeps but I feel alive.

I see lights up ahead and slow a bit, but not quick enough because I almost tag this cop going about 30mph as he stands blocking the middle of the slow lane holding a flare. I come so close to hitting him it’s absurd, but he just stands there, unfazed and intent on slowing traffic to a halt. There is a buzz of lights flashing all around and I wonder what the hell happened. It’s late and I want to get home. 

Then I see the car. Crushed beyond recognition and propped upside down against a cement pilaster, the entire top half demolished. No human being could have survived that. I see medics and police officers and firefighters, gurneys, rescue equipment but no bodies. Then I see the blood dripping from the center divider wall. The red of it hits my eyes like a massive wave. It impacts me deeply. 

I think to myself that was someone. I start to cry. That was someone. There is no evidence to indicate who that someone might have been. My brain can not even muster an imagination of that someone being a woman, man, mother, father, child, brother, sister, friend. All I can think of is that was someone, and that is enough for me to care.