Thousand Oaks
Multiple disclaimers before we begin…
Disclaimer 1:
You’ve probably noticed how I try to balance out heavy posts with funny ones. We’re due for the latter. But something happened. There’s no way to avoid talking about it. And, yeah, it’s crazy this happened right after last month’s post.
Disclaimer 2:
Each month, I edit and proofread these posts to get them right. Which takes a lot of time. Please forgive any written sloppiness this month. I won’t be doing any proofreading. I don’t think I have it in me to keep reading and editing this.
Disclaimer 3:
With post-retirement MileNerd, the goal is simple – to connect with you. That’s the reason I write this way. And about all these subjects. If I’m not super vulnerable here…there’s literally no reason to do it. But, this month, I do have one additional goal…
I want you to know what it’s like (emotionally) during those crazy stories you see in the news. You know the ones. The thing is, I was in the middle of one of these stories recently. An incident where a man (who had just stabbed two people at Walmart) drove through a group of children. I sincerely hope you never have to experience this type of thing. But it feels like it might be important to share what that moment feels like.
Disclaimer 4:
If you have any personal history with this type of event, I don’t want to trigger any pain in you. Please skip this month’s post if the above paragraph feels too close to home.
(End of disclaimers)
It’s a bit fuzzy, but here’s what I remember…
A casual Tuesday afternoon. Taking in a matinee with my girlfriend, Linda. Discounted tickets and recliner seats? Yes please. I mean, who can turn down a Nic Cage vampire flick? Well, probably most people. But we sure enjoyed the hell out of it. After the movie? No big plans. Just a slow drive home. Probably some takeout on the way back.
We drive around the corner of this picturesque suburb. The kind of place where you never hear a car horn. At a red light, I watch as high school kids cross in front of me. Heading to their bus stop. I say, “Man, I remember so clearly how big I felt at that age. But they’re still such babies.”
I look back at the red light for a moment. Then I notice all the kids scurrying right next to me. I look to the side – at a car completely flipped over and smoking. How is it possible I didn’t even hear a sound?
Surreal.
(Just the start of many more surreal thoughts and feelings to come)
I quickly put the car in park and turn the hazard lights on. There are children laying on the sidewalk with deep wounds. Scattered shoes that flew off from the impact.
(To be clear, I have no clue what an expert does in a situation like this. All I can share is how it felt. And my main recollection is that everyone seemed to be in various states of shock)
I call 911. It’s busy. So, I keep calling. Still extremely confused about how I didn’t hear anything. And trying to take in all the chaos around me. A car flipped over? Driving through these kids?
I keep trying to get through to 911. But, even as I’m doing it, there’s a kind of blank confusion. That’s really what it feels like more than “shock.” A foggy blankness.
Now, I have no idea if vehicles really explode like they do in the movies. But I see smoke pouring out of this car. I see liquid, that I assume is gasoline, dripping from the bus stop. It’s my main concern. I yell to Linda and the kids who are still standing:
“GET BACK FROM THE CAR! IT’S SMOKING!”
Again, the feeling is surreal – even while saying the words. It’s happening but it’s not happening.
Much like a dream state.
Fuzzy.
Confusing.
In the meantime, Linda is crouched down with Charlotte. A 15-year-old girl laying on the sidewalk. She’s in pain from a broken leg. Deep wounds up and down her arm. She says she wants her mom – and that she drives a black car. Charlotte, like everyone else, is in a very confused state. Linda says she needs to check on Wesley. He’s farther down the sidewalk and is convulsing. His body is violently twitching.
I notice more shoes on the sidewalk. How many kids were hit?
Charlotte cries and says, “Please don’t leave me.” Linda assures her that she’ll be right back.
Over by Wesley, his young classmate and friend Alex appears to be in total shock. Saying, “I saw him breathe – and then he didn’t breathe again” in a very confused way. Wesley is no longer moving or breathing. Linda tells Alex to say something to his friend. Speak to him. Alex asks, “What do I say?”
Nobody knows what to do. Linda says, “Just keep talking.” But she knows what she’s looking at. I finally get through to 911. Help is on the way. Linda now appears to be in a state of shock too. Whispering, “I think that boy just died” with a haunted look on her face. She’s completely pale. I still have a hard time shaking that image. Or the image of Wesley’s body shaking.
We go back to Charlotte. And another boy, Joey, who lays next to her. He says, “I broke my leg.” The words come out of him in the calmest way imaginable. Softly, he says, “I can’t find my phone.”
A man walks by saying he thinks another body flew over the ridge. But he says it in a way that indicates he’s not all there either. People are just kind of wandering around. For some reason, it’s not fully occurring to me that a boy has died. It’s like part of my brain doesn’t want to grasp how serious this is. My own state of shock, I guess.
I realize Linda’s car will block the path for paramedics when they show up. I quickly jump in and re-park around the corner. I run back to the scene, still worried that the flipped over vehicle will blow up.
This is a busy street with dozens of cars around. Nobody is driving anymore. But hardly anyone has gotten out. Only a few scattered adults are there with us. I don’t think it’s coldness or cruelty. Fear is no doubt a factor but it really just feels like everyone’s brain is having a hard time grasping how serious this is.
Charlotte knows she’s hurt. Just not sure why. She asks, “What happened?”
Another girl walks around holding her injured arm. It seems like it might be broken. Linda asks if she’s ok and the girl doesn’t respond. Almost as if she doesn’t hear the question. There’s a zombie-like energy with people wandering around in a state of confusion. Wesley’s younger sister is there too. Right in the middle of this uneasy sort of calm.
I’m not sure how to explain what our brains are doing. But it’s not normal. I’m in the middle of a moment where I don’t seem to be doing much of anything. At one point, I ask Joey if he found his phone. I even start looking for it. Why? I have no idea. It’s just a few seconds of that. Because the cops show up incredibly fast.
The sheriff starts checking on Joey but Linda says go to Wesley. He needs more help. The look on the sheriff’s face is almost like he’s in a war zone. Maybe he knows who the driver is and that it wasn’t an accident. Earlier, a kid tried to break through the glass to let the driver out. We find out later there was a gun in the car. If the driver hadn’t flipped over, how many kids would have died? Was his plan to drive through them and then start shooting? He went to this high school a few years earlier. Was he bullied? Is this some sort of revenge?
The sheriff appears to be in a state of shock too – but it’s different. He has the tools to keep functioning. He’s performing tasks. Not wandering aimlessly. He and his colleague start tying yellow strings around the injured kids. I don’t know why. Maybe to indicate who needs help when the paramedics arrive. They yell for everyone to clear the area. We stagger away. In the same dreamlike state. Foggy. As we approach our car, two teenagers walk by saying, “Oh he’s dead” in a very casual tone. Their brains are not really grasping it. Even as they say the words. We get in the car and Linda immediately cries those primal tears you only hear a handful of times in your life. The ones that come from somewhere deep inside. After seeing something truly awful.
And then we drive home.
In a complete fog.
In the days that follow, it feels like one uppercut after the next. Realizing Wesley did die. And that it wasn’t just a horrible accident. It was the murder of a child that we saw. I realize that I’m so desensitized with all those crazy stories in the news. At this point, we all are. It’s like we almost have to be…just to get by. But, man, it’s such a different thing to experience. Even if you look at something huge like 9/11 – maybe there’s really just one difference between thinking “that’s so sad” and being rocked by the devastation. And the difference is being there.
Because then it’s not just a story.
It’s part of your story.
But then there’s another level. A much deeper one. Something I have a hard time even imagining. Wesley was on his way home to celebrate his mom’s birthday. What is she going through? What happens to his little brother and sister?
My eyes well up whenever I think about it. I can feel the aching in my heart when my brain goes to those thoughts.
I watched him cross the street five seconds before.
And then I watched him die.
That next Friday, Linda and I wondered what plans Wesley would have made for the weekend. And we didn’t even know him. We’ve talked frequently about that day. Hugging each other a little more than usual. Dreams are extra vivid right now and often very disturbing. The frequency and intensity of those images will reduce over time. But it won’t (and can’t) be something I ever forget.
I hope you never end up in a situation like this. And I really hope this kind of thing never touches anyone you love. But, if you are ever in a moment like that, it’s almost like you have to try and snap yourself out of the fog. Because it doesn’t feel real in the moment. Your brain won’t be your best ally. Our brains have been known to protect us in some strange ways.
I changed the names above. Other than Wesley, of course. Whose name has been released publicly. Their family friend put up a GoFundMe page to help with funeral expenses. The goal was $15,000. Within a week, the total donations hit $250,000. So heartwarming to see such care and support. But, obviously, what that family wants is something more than money.
I hope you’ll read this and hug your loved ones today.
Everything can change in a second.