Collision

I hear my least favorite sound. The sound of friction that makes you almost feel the heat. The sound that makes blood rush to the capillaries near the surface of your skin over your entire body. The sound that slams your eyes open in the middle of the night. Squealing, screeching, screaming wheels come to a sudden and horrifying stop. The stop of the shriek is anything but the halting of sound; rather it is the crunching of metal, the popping of plastic and the shattering of glass. Moments pass, enough of them so I can almost fall back asleep and lose the memory of the sound, but few enough that I am aroused again to hear the sound of voices.

“Hello? Are you ok? Hello?!”

“Hello.”

The sound of the response means everyone is ok – even though I can’t see them. I can only hear. The conversation that followed, assuming there was one, only registered with my startled mind as quite mumblings.



Being jolted awake like that makes me realize I need to drink of glass of water. I didn’t realize how parched I was until it took 3 or 4 gulps of water to quench my dry throat. It’s the kind of thirsty that requires lots of water because all sides, curves and crevices of your throat are like dry dirt that water sits upon for a while before it can sink in and quench.

When I wake in the morning, it seems like a dream but I know it was real. I can’t seem to forget it, the sound haunts me. I was assaulted by the sound and it stays in my memory.