A Quiet Day
Sara Shea
I opened the front door of my house and stepped outside, beginning the long walk to the end of my driveway. Normally, being tasked with taking in the trash cans would make me irritable, but as I listened to the gentle chirp of birds overhead and felt the warmth of the sun on my face, I found that I couldn’t bring myself to mind. As I glanced up at the large expanse of blue sky above me and watched the few clouds lazily moving across my field of vision, I felt a gentle breeze brush my face. When I finally reached the end of my driveway, I bent down and began picking up the recycling bins from the ground, preparing to stack them in the rolling trash can for the walk back to the garage. Suddenly, I heard a piercing screech. I whipped my head around, heart pounding. The sight that greeted my eyes stopped me in my tracks. Two cars, smashed together on the street. Smoke billowing out of them in large clouds. Shards of glass littering the road. Another car driving down the road came to a halt behind the crash. Its driver called 911, yelling things into the phone that the sound of blood pulsing in my ears drowned out.
I distantly registered a thud as the recycling bin fell from my hand. I tried to take deep breaths, but the air didn’t seem to want to go into my lungs. Instead, the breaths I took came in sharp, ragged bursts that did nothing to calm me. I kept willing myself to move, to turn away, but my eyes remained glued to the scene. Police cars and ambulances arrived, but not even the sounds made by their loud, shrill sirens could break me out of my trance. What finally did snap me out of it was the sound of my mom’s voice. “Sara, what’s going on? It’s been ten minutes!” I whirled around, watching her expression change to one of horror as she noticed the crash. She rushed out the door, running down the driveway to me. Taking me by the shoulders, she turned me around and led me down the driveway back toward the house. A million thoughts raced through my head, a million things I needed to tell her. The sound of the crash. The smell of the smoke. The way the man’s hands shook as he called 911. When I opened my mouth to speak, however, what came out was, “but the trash cans…” My mom let out a soft laugh. “Honey”, she said, “the trash cans can wait.”
Sara Shea
I opened the front door of my house and stepped outside, beginning the long walk to the end of my driveway. Normally, being tasked with taking in the trash cans would make me irritable, but as I listened to the gentle chirp of birds overhead and felt the warmth of the sun on my face, I found that I couldn’t bring myself to mind. As I glanced up at the large expanse of blue sky above me and watched the few clouds lazily moving across my field of vision, I felt a gentle breeze brush my face. When I finally reached the end of my driveway, I bent down and began picking up the recycling bins from the ground, preparing to stack them in the rolling trash can for the walk back to the garage. Suddenly, I heard a piercing screech. I whipped my head around, heart pounding. The sight that greeted my eyes stopped me in my tracks. Two cars, smashed together on the street. Smoke billowing out of them in large clouds. Shards of glass littering the road. Another car driving down the road came to a halt behind the crash. Its driver called 911, yelling things into the phone that the sound of blood pulsing in my ears drowned out.
I distantly registered a thud as the recycling bin fell from my hand. I tried to take deep breaths, but the air didn’t seem to want to go into my lungs. Instead, the breaths I took came in sharp, ragged bursts that did nothing to calm me. I kept willing myself to move, to turn away, but my eyes remained glued to the scene. Police cars and ambulances arrived, but not even the sounds made by their loud, shrill sirens could break me out of my trance. What finally did snap me out of it was the sound of my mom’s voice. “Sara, what’s going on? It’s been ten minutes!” I whirled around, watching her expression change to one of horror as she noticed the crash. She rushed out the door, running down the driveway to me. Taking me by the shoulders, she turned me around and led me down the driveway back toward the house. A million thoughts raced through my head, a million things I needed to tell her. The sound of the crash. The smell of the smoke. The way the man’s hands shook as he called 911. When I opened my mouth to speak, however, what came out was, “but the trash cans…” My mom let out a soft laugh. “Honey”, she said, “the trash cans can wait.”