Sweat rolled off Jon’s head like
beads of mercury running down an incline.
They glistened in the sunshine as the roar of the John Deere Gator
echoed off the walls of the school. Moving at top speed, Jon was headed back to
his office to unload the extractor, carpet cleaning tools and the “holy” rug
that he’d ruined while cleaning an ink spot off it in the library. The school principal, Vance, was out for
blood when he realized that Jon had inadvertently splashed ink on the back of
his light tan suit pants. Thus, the
reason he was moving at high speed; to escape Vance’s wrath.
As
Jon roared around the corner of the school, the rolled up, expensive, foreign,
gifted-from-an-African-school area rug with a large hole in it flew off the
back of the Gator. It unfurled and flew
like a magic carpet, the ends undulating in the breeze as it floated and fell
to earth. Jon glanced in his rearview
mirror just in time to see it land on the pavement as a large Fed Ex delivery
truck was leaving. The truck barreled over the rug. In horror, Jon watched as the rug rolled
around the large dual wheels on the back of the Fed Ex trailer and flopped
around like an unwound slinky.
Unbeknownst to the driver, the rug became entangled in the undercarriage
of the truck, but because the construction of the rug was nothing compared to
the momentum, force and speed of the truck, it simply shredded and tore like
tissue paper. Chunks of the rug flew
from underneath the truck as tattered faces of the animals which once graced
its surface were left strewn on the road.
Jon’s heart sank like a millstone in the sea.
Reaching
his office, Jon quickly unloaded the carpet equipment. Climbing back into the Gator, Jon’s plan was
to get back to the shed where the Gator was stored and park it before Vance saw
him. He just didn’t want any confrontation right now.
The
Gator was stored in a shed behind the school and down a slight incline. Jon needed to drive down the small hill, over
a small bridge that spanned a creek and through a gate that opened onto a large
field which the district planned on using for future construction projects as
more students enrolled. The shed was
just beyond the gate and to the right. It also housed some extra equipment,
building materials and other oddball things that could be used for other
schools.
Jon
started the Gator and the deep, throaty sound of the diesel engine reverberated
off the school walls. Jon cranked the wheel around and headed for the
shed. About half-way across the parking
lot, Jon’s ears picked up the distant sound, although muffled under the roar of
the diesel engine, of a “woofing” sound, almost like a heavy blanket being
dropped on the floor. He glanced around and looked in all three of his mirrors,
but didn’t see anything. Barreling
forward, Jon heard the sound again, this time louder. Again, he glanced over his shoulder, looked
in his mirrors and scanned the landscape around him trying to ascertain where
the sound was coming from. Nothing.
As
Jon neared the crest of the hill wherein he would start his descent toward the
bridge, a sudden ROAR occurred right next to his left ear. Jon jumped in his seat as he turned to stare
into the fangs of the stray dog that he thought had left the property a few
months previously. Obviously, the dog
had returned to seek revenge for his prior ice-sliding escapade into the curb
during icy weather. The dog was jumping and leaping at Jon as it raced
alongside the Gator. Jon could feel the
heat of its breath on his face and felt the tug and heard the tear of cloth as
the dog sunk his teeth into Jon’s shirt while leaping from the pavement. If Jon’s heart hadn’t already had quite the
workout from his encounter with Vance, it surely did now. Had he been connected to an EEG machine, his
heart rate would have looked like a high-frequency readout on the screen of an
oscilloscope, the waves and crests so close together that it was hard to tell
where they started and stopped.
In
an endeavor to escape the mobile, teeth-encased, canine-head which was lunging
and snapping next to his ear, Jon stomped on the accelerator and the Gator
lurked forward with increased speed.
Glancing in his side mirror, Jon watched as Beowulf’s stature decreased
in size and eventually slowed and turned to gallop off toward some other
interest he’d suddenly been intrigued by. Jon breathed a sigh of relief and let
off on the accelerator as the Gator barreled down the hill at 30 mph. Scenery continued to whiz by Jon as he
suddenly realized that the lifting of his foot off the foot-feed had done
nothing to slow his speed. Looking down
at the speedometer, Jon’s heart began to race once again as his brain sent
signals through his body warning him of impending danger. The speedometer now read 36 mph and it
continued to climb. Frantically, Jon
used his toes to try and pull up on the accelerator. Nothing happened. Panic rising in his body, Jon tried
again. The speedometer climbed higher as
his descent down the hill’s incline and the effect of gravity increased his
acceleration. 40 mph. Jon’s hair was now horizontal as the wind
blowing through the open cab caught each strand and lifted it up creating a
streamer-like effect. Jon’s mind was
racing with ideas of how he could unstick the accelerator. The bridge was a mere 100 yards away.
Jon
stretched out his right hand while holding the steering wheel with his left
hand and he cautiously bent down to try and pull the gas pedal up with his fingers. His eyes were barely able to peek over the
dash, much like two large suns on the horizon at sunrise. His bent body ached
as his muscles stretched, stretched and stretched some more. His fingertips were able to just brush the edge
of the gas pedal. Jon had only millimeters
to go before his ridged fingertips would be able to grasp the underside of the
pedal and pull upward. Jon’s mind willed his body to stretch like Gumby and stretch
just a hair more. His fingers slipped
underneath the edge of the pedal. Jon’s
mind breathed a sigh of relief and he pulled.
The
Gator continued to race down the hill. The speedometer now read 44 mph. When Jon pulled upward, nothing happened.
Pulling harder, Jon willed more strength from his muscles and pulled with
concentrated effort. Still nothing. He
gave it one more go. With a sudden
“snap” Jon flew backwards in his seat. His head bounced off the back window and
the Gator swerved just briefly as Jon arrested control from the laws of
nature. In his right hand he held the
broken accelerator pedal. Glancing down
at the floorboard, Jon noticed the metal rod that connected the accelerator to
the carburetor. It was still pushed all the way to the floor. The edge of the rod was stuck under the edge
of the hole through which the rod entered.
There was no way he could release the rod without being on his hands and
knees and probably using tools to do so. Jon figured this was the end as the
bridge was a mere 50 feet away. At this
speed he’d cross it in less than a second.
Jon’s mind was able to send signals to his body faster than the rate at
which he was traveling, so a sudden “thought” occurred to him. HIT THE BRAKES!
Jon,
in his panicked state, had not thought to implement this simple step. His right foot raised, and he stomped on the
brake. The Gator’s wheels locked up and
the Gator began to slide forward. But
not fast enough as he skidded across the bridge and became airborne on the
other side. Flying, Jon glanced out the side window at the ever-receding ground
below. Sweat raced around Jon’s head as
if each droplet were in competition with his race down the hill. The Gator was some 12 feet off the ground as
it exited the far side of the bridge and floated in the air languidly for a few
seconds. As it began to descend toward
the ground, Jon braced for impact.
When
the front wheels hit the ground, the momentum and sudden impact sent Jon’s body
forward only to be restrained by his seatbelt.
Jon was so glad he’d strapped in this time. Normally he just jumped in and drove. The front tires compressed almost to the
wheel and then resumed their normal shape as the back of the Gator came crashing
down to the ground. As they rebounded
from the impact, the entire Gator bounced back into the air like a rubber ball
and Jon looked like a kernel of popcorn inside an air popper as he was thrown
up, down, left, right, forward and backward as all the forces of momentum and
gravity played their roles.
The
Gator resumed a normal driving position and continued forward releasing the
last of its acceleration and forward movement. Large swaths of dirt and gravel
spewed from all four wheels due to Jon’s slamming on the brakes. Unfortunately, the sudden descent and force
of hitting the ground from such a height had jerked the steering wheel from Jon’s
hands. The Gator’s front wheels grabbed
the ground and turned toward the right.
As they did so, several lug nuts on the front left wheel were sheared
off and flew like bullets across the field, a couple ricocheting off the trees
that lined the edge of the property. The
wheel, now unsecured, flopped like a fish as the steering wheel shuddered under
Jon’s hand. With forces so immense, Jon
was unable to hold on to the wheel. It
was ripped from his grasp and the Gator’s front left tire blew and then flew
off the axle. Bouncing across the field, it crashed into a district vehicle
that was parked on the field where the grounds crew worked in the woods
clearing brush. A huge dent in the
driver’s door would prevent entry and the force of the impact shattered the
driver’s side window and cracked the windshield. Rebounding from the impact, the tire flew off
the truck and rolled across the field where is shuddered to rest in the
grass.
Meanwhile,
the Gator dropped to the ground and the axle and undercarriage dug deeply into
the ground. This sudden resistance and
continued momentum caused the Gator to stop quicker in the front than the
back. The weight of the Gator’s rear end
was forced to overtake the front end and the Gator pirouetted back to front over
itself. Jon, still strapped inside, felt
as if he were on a ride at the fair. The scenery around him spun and
twisted. The grounds truck turned
upside-down and then right side up as he completed a full rotation inside the
cage of the Gator. The momentum was such that a second rotation began, and he
rolled again. This time when the Gator
slammed down to the ground, he was upright, and it bounced and wobbled to a
complete stop. Jon sat stunned.
Steam
began to rise from the hood and smoke trailed out behind the Gator. Jon’s mind was reeling, and it took him a few
seconds to get his bearings. When the
smell of diesel assaulted his nose, Jon knew he needed to get out of the
Gator. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Jon
tumbled sideways out of his door and landed on the ground. He crawled, stumbled and tripped his way away
from the totaled machine. Hearing a loud
“bang”, Jon turned to see what the noise was.
Staring
at the Gator from 25 feet away, Jon watched as black smoke began to grow and
expand from underneath the lift-bed behind the cab. It curled out and
surrounded the bed like a white blood cell enveloping a deadly bacterium. The smoke continued to grow and expand until
Jon could no longer see the Gator. All that was visible was a black, roiling
cloud of putrid diesel-laden fumes climbing higher and higher into the
sky. Jon expected the worst. Crab-crawling backwards, Jon was able to
distance himself some 50 feet from the Gator when a thunderous “boom” and
accompanying fireball roared into the sky.
The concussion from the blast knocked Jon on his butt. The heat created
by the explosion of diesel raced over Jon singeing his hair. His eyebrows instantly disintegrated and his
hair curled into a tiny forest of Bear grass.
His face blackened as if he were some lost chimney sweep and his clothes
instantly absorbed the greasy, burnt odor of burning fuel.
As
the mushroom cloud rolled into the sky and then dissipated leaving a burning
pile of rubber and steel, the grounds crew came racing out of the woods.
“What
the…?”, yelled Antonio, a Hispanic 32-year-old from Guatemala. He’d worked for the district for 10 years and
knew Jon well.
His
coworker, Mortimer, a 69-year-old man of German descent stumbled out behind
him.
“Holy
Cow! What in the world happened?”
“I
have no idea,” Antonio yelled above the roar of the fire.
"It
looks like some vehicle. I can’t tell
though due to the flames engulfing it,” Mortimer hollered.
Antonio
just wagged his head in agreement.
Wondering if someone was hurt, Mortimer and Antonio cautiously made
their way closer to the burning mass. The intense heat kept them from getting
too close, but they were able to scrutinize the pile. Slowly walking in a circle around the
unexpected bonfire, both men carefully looked for any victims. As they reached the far side of the melting
mass, they noticed movement in the distance as they stared through the
flickering flames.
“Look,”
Antonio yelled elbowing Mortimer in the ribs. “There’s someone lying in the
grass over there.” Antonio pointed his grass-stained finger in the direction of
Jon.
“Who
is it?” Mortimer queried.
“I
don’t know, but we better go look and see if they’re hurt,” Antonio replied.
The
two grounds employees quickly ran around the quickly diminishing pile of rubble
and toward the figure on the grass.
Reaching Jon, both men stopped in their tracks. Before them sat a blackened, eyelash-missing,
fuzzy-headed scalp of a man. Staring up at them, Jon’s cracked lips parted to
speak, but not before some skin from both lips was left stuck to the opposite
lip as burnt flesh peeled from one to the other. Jon grimaced in pain.
“Water,”
Jon moaned. “I need some water.”
Mortimer,
always the health-conscious employee, reached down and pulled a water-bottle
out of his cargo pants pocket. Handing
it to Jon, he opened it with black, crayon-like fingers and gingerly took a
drink. Water dribbled out of his mouth
and over his numb lips as he tried to quench his thirst. Handing the bottle
back, Jon slumped in a heap and just stared dumb-founded at Mortimer and
Antonio.
“What
happened?” asked Antonio? “We heard a
loud crash and then as we were running out of the woods to see what was going
on there was a ‘boom’ and a ball of flame rolled into the sky. Did you roll the Gator?”
Jon’s
eyes stared at the ground darting here and there like lighthouse beacons
warning ships at sea of danger. Slowly,
he raised his head to look at his two colleagues. Like some broken bobble-headed doll, Jon
looked from one to the other. His eyes were
dark and lost. His stare indicated
confusion, anguish and his penetrating look at Antonio and Mortimer indicated
he wasn’t sure who they were. He tried
to speak, but babble emanated from his mouth.
His tongue was thick, as if he had a mouth full of thick paste. His mind wouldn’t clear. It seemed like his brain was disconnected and
floating in an unseen and black void.
About
this time, Vance appeared at the top of the small incline and stood on the
bridge surveying the situation. An
orange ball of fire crackled and popped, smoke wisped into the sky and two
figures and a crumpled man dotted the field to the left of the disaster. Vance
was perplexed as to what happened.
Recognizing Antonio and Mortimer, Vance quickly jogged down the incline
toward them. As he neared the trio, he
suddenly recognized Jon, dark, lightly smoldering and confused sitting at the
feet of the grounds employees. Vance
stood dumbfounded. He looked at the fire and was able to make out the frame of
a vehicle. In the distance he noticed a
tire lying on the field. The tread on
the tire triggered a picture in Vance’s mind, a picture of the Gator racing
away from him with a custom-made rug in the bed. Vance had no idea how things went from a
runaway Gator with Jon at the wheel to the Gator in ruins burning on the field
and Jon charred and crumpled sitting at his feet.
Jon
noticed the feet of a man from the corner of his eye. Slowly scanning the highly polished shoes and
moving upward along the upright frame, Jon’s eyes at last met Vance’s eyes
pupil to pupil. Vance looked at Jon forlornly.
His countenance was one of sadness, empathy and disbelief. Jon looked back with the face of a sad and
dejected puppy.
“Really
Jon? Really?”
Jon
just stared at Vance, almost through him. With cracked and bleeding lips, he
hoarsely said, “Yes Vance. Really.”
“Are
you okay?”
Vance
was truly concerned, although given the long history of Jon’s mishaps it didn’t
surprise him that Jon had done something foolish and potentially dangerous
again.
“I’ll
be fine,” Jon said. His head was clearing,
and his mental lucidity was reshaping itself inside his mind. Jon was beginning to grasp what had happened
and the pain associated with the accident was beginning to surface throughout
Jon’s body.
“I
just need to rest and cleanup a bit,” Jon said.
“You’re
sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”, Vance asked. Red and his team will be
here momentarily to teach a CPR class to some of the staff. I can have him check you over.
Red
was a paramedic that Jon had had encounters with multiple times. Jon really,
really did not want to face him again and try to explain what had
happened. To assuage Vance’s concerns,
Jon said that he’d talk to Red if he got worse or found something amiss when he
got moving again. Vance agreed.
Antonio
and Mortimer said they’d clean up the mess after it burned down, and Vance said
he’d let Risk Management know so that the insurance process could be
started. Jon slowly rose to his feet and
stretched. His back aching and his body
pulsing with pain, Jon winced, but toughed it out so as not to look like a wimp
in front of his colleagues. Vance eyed
Jon one more time, told him to take care and turned to leave. A slight breeze blew through the field and a
small beautifully woven giraffe drifted down and landed on Vance’s
shoulder. Reaching up, Vance glanced at
the piece of fabric. Then the sudden
realization of what it was and where it came from registered in his brain. Vance turned, his face red and taut. He
wanted to grab Jon by the throat realizing what had happened to the gorgeous
gift the African school had donated to their building. But upon seeing Jon’s beaten and haggard body
and his pathetic ebonized face, Vance held his temper, turned around and stiffly
walked up the hill.
Jon
subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.
Antonio and Mortimer walked back toward the woods. A dog barked.
Then growled. Then lunged. Jon’s half-burned pants were ripped from his
body. The dog, satisfied to have a
“piece” of Jon, violently shook the pants to kill them completely. Growling,
twirling in circles and walking backwards, the dog finally turned and ran off
into the woods with Jon’s trousers in tow as his new “prize”. Jon stood there, befouled, muscles burning,
face aching, lips bleeding, pant-less and so worn out. What a
day! Jon thought, What a Day! Jon slowly clambered up the hill, a stick of
a man, half-dressed and beaten down.
Trudging
upwards, Jon heard Mortimer bellow in the distance.
“Our
truck! What in the world happened? Look at
this Antonio. Look. At. This.”
Jon
didn’t dare turn around. He just kept walking.
Tomorrow was another day. And it had to be better than this one.
