Have you ever played the game of “what if?”. For instance, what if I took the left road instead of the right? We make decisions every day, from small ones like what to eat for breakfast or what to wear each morning, to major, life-altering decisions. Some things are just meant to happen. Sometimes, there is no explanation, no excuse, no justification for life-changing events, other than it was just meant to be. Some things are out of our control. Destiny plays a major role in our lives, as though the script of our lives has already been written, and we are but actors in a play, following a pre-ordained sequence of events.
I was driving home from work one night. I was a few minutes later than usual on this night because Ralph, one of my co-workers, struck up a conversation as we were punching the time clock. It was the usual banter about football. We separated in the rainy parking lot around twelve minutes after midnight. I had a country music station on the radio in my truck, and I was singing along to Randy Travis as I approached Henderson Road. This particular rural road was lined with cornfields on each side, spooky even when the weather is nice.
I drove through a drizzling rain as I approached the crossroad. This was a particularly deserted stretch with no streetlamps or sidewalks. I was in the sticks, surrounded in all directions by farmland. I slowed to a stop when I noticed a wreck ahead. I grabbed an umbrella and got out, my headlights illuminating the scene, as I was sprinting to the mangled car. It was crushed on the driver’s side, and the windshield was shattered. Blood was splattered all around the highway, along with millions of shiny fragments of glass. I looked in the car just in case the driver was trapped inside. No one was there.
I could’ve easily driven around the wreckage and let the next guy worry about the mess, but that wasn’t me. As I assessed the situation, I heard a voice calling nearby.
“Please help me!” It was a young man lying by the side of the road. I knelt beside him, holding the umbrella over his head. His face was bloodied, and his eyes were swollen shut. “Tell my wife I love her,” he said. It sounded like the proclamation of a dying man. Man, I got the chills right there and then, and not from the cold rain, which was now coming down heavier.
This guy looked young, maybe in his twenties. There was blood all over his face and shirt, and dripping out of his mouth. His face was full of cuts, gashes, and glass. He was in pretty bad shape. He must have crashed through the windshield, ending up here, a good twenty feet or so away from his truck. The poor fellow was lucky to be alive, let alone conscious, as he tried to talk. I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring.
“Mary, where are you?” he sighed. Who was Mary? I wondered. His wife? He must have had friends, both now and in the past, friends from work, maybe teammates from high school or college, drinking buddies. He must’ve had family, too. So why me- a stranger- why was I there to hear his last words? This guy lived through childhood, adolescence and now into early adulthood, only to end up here, at the end of his life with nobody else but me. It wasn’t going to happen on my watch. He wasn’t going to die if I could help it.
I grabbed my phone and called 9-1-1. I knew not to touch him. I almost had the notion to throw him in my truck and speed to County General Hospital, but I didn’t know what kind of injuries he had sustained.
“Hang in there, buddy. Ambulance will be here soon,” I encouraged. Keep him talking, I thought. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. He started to shiver violently, so I took off my leather jacket and wrapped it around him. It was summer, but it was cold rain. I was afraid he was checking out on me.
“What’s your name, buddy?” I asked.
“Jeff,” he groaned.
“That’s my name too,” I said. I thought nothing of that irony or coincidence at the time; my only thought was to keep him talking. “What’s your wife’s name?”
“Laura,” he answered in a whisper.
“Have any kids, Jeff?”
“Two.”
“Two, huh?” I replied. “What’s their names?”
Finally, the ambulance arrived. It had been only minutes since I had called 9-1-1 but it felt longer. They loaded him in the back and left, their siren piercing the lonely, rain-soaked Iowa night. Then the cops asked me a few questions. They stayed on the scene, closing down the road until a tow truck could arrive. So, how did it happen? I didn’t see the actual hit-and-run…I must’ve missed the accident by only a few moments. To think, that could’ve been me. I was just being a Good Samaritan. I had nothing to do with the wreck.
There were skid marks on the highway, almost as if the other car swerved to avoid contact. Meanwhile, the siren and the lights from the ambulance faded into the empty darkness. I told the police that I didn’t smell alcohol on his breath. Did it matter? Did anything matter at this point?
I was still shaking when I finally got back in my truck and pulled away. After witnessing the aftermath of the accident, I just couldn’t forget it. I mean, I wanted to go home to my wife and kids. I wanted to hug them extra tightly in the morning. But all I could think of was a state trooper or the local police going to this guy’s house and breaking the news to his girlfriend or wife, or mother, news that Jeff had been in a possibly fatal accident. Instead of going straight home, I made a quick detour to the hospital.
I got back into town and trudged into the Emergency Room of County General. I saw the same ambulance that had transported Jeff parked near the entrance, its back doors wide open, the motor running. I could see inside and the back; it was empty.
I asked about Jeff. I understood about confidentiality but, damn it, I was the only one there and I needed to know how he was doing. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t know. The nurse on duty at the reception desk finally told me that Jeff didn’t make it.
***
Upstairs, Mary was sleeping. I sat on the edge of our bed, thinking. That could’ve been me. If I had been on time getting out of work… Why was I saved? A different outcome, and my Mary would be at the hospital right now, trying to come to terms with the accident on Henderson Road. I crawled into bed, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, laying my head on her back, breathing deeply, trying to calm down, still frightened from what I had seen, frightened of what could have been.
“You’re home?” Mary mumbled, still half-asleep.
“I’m sorry to wake you, baby,” I replied softly.
“It’s ok,” she said. “How did it go? How was work?”
“Work was ok. Saw an accident on the way home.”
“Oh, no. Was it bad?”
“Yeah, pretty bad.
“Anybody hurt?”
“Yeah, a guy died. I was there as he was dying.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she replied, waking up and turning over to face me. “I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”
“I’m ok,” I said. I never lie to my wife. But that night I did. I wasn’t sure if I was ok. I just kept thinking about the wreck. I kept thinking about how life can be extinguished without warning. Everything you work for, all your dreams and plans…gone, within a matter of seconds. I kept thinking about how short a time we have to live and to love and to do good. Before I fell asleep, as Mary lay cuddled in my arms, I made a vow.
“You know, we’ve been talking about going with the kids to Disney?” I whispered.” I know money has been tight since we needed a new roof. But now I’m thinking we should go. We keep putting it off and putting it off. Always an excuse. Well, guess what? Not anymore. Life is too precious to waste. Let’s start making plans tomorrow…”
Mary never heard a word. She was sleeping peacefully, like a soft kitten curled in a warm ball. I smiled and started to doze. Before I closed my eyes, a thought crossed my mind- as he was dying, why did Jeff ask for “Mary?” even though he had a wife named “Laura?”
***
Later, the following day, I found Jeff’s obituary online. There was his picture. “Looks just like you,” my wife commented.” Same name too. Freaky…”
It was true- we were the spitting image of each other, only he had a nicely-trimmed beard and I was clean-shaven.
I decided to attend Jeff’s gravesite memorial service a few days later. I wanted to give his wife Jeff’s message. I wanted her to know that, right up to his dying breath, he was thinking of her. “Tell my wife I love her.”
The service was dignified, with an assortment of Jeff’s family and friends speaking. They told stories about what a great guy he was, with a few of humorous remarks about his quirks and his lively sense of humor. By the end of the brief ceremony, I felt like I had known Jeff for a long time, like we had some sort of bond, something that tied us together. In reality, I had never met him until the night of the accident, even though we lived close to one another.
Jeff’s ashes were in a gray urn, which sat near a plain marker at St. Francis of Assisi Cemetery. It had been a while, thank goodness, since I attended a burial for a family member or friend. But I knew the graveyard like the back of my hand since I had cut grass there one summer while I was in high school.
At the end of the service, those in attendance gathered around Laura, his widow, offering condolences. This was my chance to express my sincere condolences.
“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry,” I started. “My name is Jeff, and I was there when Jeff…What I mean to say is, I came upon him, I came upon the accident. I was the one who called nine-one-one. I’m sorry for your loss. He seemed like a great guy.”
The strangest thing happened. I was standing in front of Mrs. Walker and expected her to answer me, but she walked right by me, greeting another guest. It soon became apparent that everyone at the service, all the guests, were either ignoring me or didn’t know I was there! It was as though I were invisible.
On my way home, I tried to process this entire episode. Why did I feel so close to this guy? It had to be more than just being there when he died and sharing a name. Something else was pulling at me, something I couldn’t explain. And then the unusual circumstances at the memorial service. What is going on here? I wondered. The notion that I was in some sort of alternate universe or was leading a “mirrored life”, that somehow our lives had blended, a mix of my world and his. Maybe a choice or decision early in life had changed the trajectory of our futures. I couldn’t explain it. That’s when I heard the voice:
“Let it go, man,” a voice said. “Some things are just meant to be.”
Was that my conscious talking? My alter ego? That “little voice inside” we hear about, giving us advice, warning us of danger, protecting and reassuring? A guardian angel, perhaps?
***
That night, I was driving home from work, as usual. It was a clear night, unlike the night of the accident. A full moon was shining brightly over the rural landscape, throwing an eerie, buttery glow over the cornfields. I stopped at the Henderson Road crossroads. For a brief few seconds, my truck sat at the site of the tragic accident from only a few nights before. Before I could proceed through the intersection, lightning flashed before my eyes and I found myself out of my truck, lying on the side of the road. My clothes were soaked with summer rain as a torrential thunderstorm raged around me. There was my truck in the road, turned over. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling, what I was seeing, what I was experiencing. It was almost as if I had switched places with Jeff!
Speaking of which, Jeff got out of his truck at the crossroad, running up to me. I was experiencing labored breathing and I had excruciating pain in my chest. I was certain a number of ribs were fractured, among other broken bones, lacerations, bruises and cuts I was suffering. The blood ran from open wounds in my scalp and forehead. I felt weak and delusional, as if every bit of energy and life was painfully dripping out of my broken body, one drop of blood at a time.
“Tell my wife I love her,” I begged him. Jeff opened an umbrella and held it over my head as he struggled to call 9-1-1, the slippery phone almost dropping onto the road. I sat there, numb, mesmerized, in complete shock. One moment I was perfectly safe in my truck; the night was beautiful and clear; the kind of night you want to sleep beneath the stars and watch the universe until dawn. And now it was storming, the rain pelting Jeff’s wind-blown umbrella, which he struggled to maintain, thunder booming overhead mixed with occasional flashes of lightning.
“Where is Laura?” I asked. I didn’t know why I asked for Jeff’s wife, just as I was confused about why he called out for “Mary” when he was in my situation.
Am I going to die? I wondered. Or am I dreaming? I wasn’t sure what was real and what was an illusion. All I knew was they were loading me into the back of an ambulance. That’s when everything went blank. Everything was dark. And then I saw a bright white light shining before me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was at peace. I felt a tremendous amount of love in my heart. I didn’t hear a voice, but someone was gently telling me I had to “go back.” I “wasn’t ready” yet.
Is this what it’s like to die?
Surprisingly, I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay in the light, feeling this immense peace and love in my soul. Then, rapid memories of my past life…especially of my family… floated into my mind. They used to say that, when you’re dying,” you see your life pass before your eyes.” Well, it was true. Yes, I decided, take me back. I want to go back to my wife and kids.
I opened my eyes and there I was again, in the back of the ambulance, still in an enormous amount of pain, but conscious, fully aware of my circumstances and surroundings. A bolt of lightning flashed around the ambulance, and then I was transported back to my truck, instantly sitting in the middle of the intersection once again, as a speeding eighteen-wheeler roared by my window, blowing it’s horn! The huge rig barely missed me by inches as I hit the gas and left the haunted crossroad behind.
***
Jeff and I had our individual destiny. His was to sadly perish in the accident, while I was to live, to raise my family. I never did figure it all out but I surmised that somehow our cosmic signals got crossed. Somehow our lives, so similar, blended into each other to the point of throwing Fate out of whack. It was like I had lived a previous life and was reliving those tragic events. Or was it a premonition of events yet to happen?
Even though I died during this time, I learned much more about life. I spent the rest of my days always offering kindness and never taking life for granted. I passed through the same crossroad many times in the future. Everything seemed to be back to normal until…
One weekend I decided to pay Jeff’s grave a visit. It was a year since the accident and my thoughts drifted to him. So, I took some time on a sunny afternoon to pay my respects. There was only one problem as I approach the gravesite.
There was no grave.
I was positive that I had remembered where Jeff’s gravesite services were held. Just in case I was losing it, I looking around that general area for a marker or tombstone, anything to identify where Jeff was located. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find it. It had to be there. I was at the funeral. I pulled the internet up on my phone. I tried to find his obituary again. I remembered the funeral director, the same guy who buried my Uncle Henry back in the day.
No obit. It was as though Jeff never died.
Maybe…just maybe Jeff got a pass with Fate like I had. Maybe there was no grave because Jeff never really died after all. Or he did die- and was allowed to return. After all, it wasn’t our fault that our lives had been spliced together a year ago.
Hopefully Jeff and Laura were…somewhere…happy and healthy and raising their own family like I was. Or maybe they were an illusion all along. Maybe the accident itself was an illusion.
Was it my life that was reality…or was my life the illusion?//
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gregory Smith is a retired medical social worker. He is the author of 32 short stories, 20 of which have been accepted/published. Greg is active on social media, including Facebook, X, Blue Sky & Instagram. He enjoys reading, watching sports & classic movies, and listening to music in his free time.
About the Author
