The Van (F)

Sondra Hull marked herself Safe.The first call came from her sister, Janice. “You’re safe?  You weren’t there?”

“Yes, I’m safe. I was there. I was right there.”

“You saw it?”

“I saw it all. They all went in in front of me.”

“In front of you? What—“

“I was the first car to stop before the bridge. I mean where the bridge was.”

“Oh my god, Sondra. Like right there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god! Do you want me to come over? Are you okay?”

“I’m making tea.” In front of her on the dining room table sat her cup from Turkey, the one Gary picked out as a true antique.

“For god’s sake, Sondra. Tea? Tea?”

“What should I be doing?”

“Why aren’t you hysterical?”

“Should I be? Hold on, the water is ready. I don’t know what I am.”

“Sondra—“

“I should call Mom before she hears. Let me call you later.”

“Oh my god, Sondra. Okay, okay. I so thankful you’re alive. Call me. Call me soon.”

“I will.”

Sondra poured the hot water into the pot and set the lid down gently. Call Janice back and what? Recount the cars slamming on brakes and skidding down the slope into the canyon. The truck in front of her flying into the air. The silver Toyota van that just sped by her before sliding into—what would be the word. Gary would say into the oblivion.

Mom. Mom would be hysterical. She closed her eyes.

She dialed. “Mom, mom, I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Hear what, sweetie?”

“The 285 bridge collapsed.”

“Oh, no! That’s terrible. How did you hear—on the news, I guess.”

“I was there, Mom.”

“No, no. No! There? What there?”

“I was the first car to not go over, over into the river.”

“Oh—oh, Sondra—I can’t….” Her mother started crying. “Oh, my girl, my precious girl.”

“Mom, mom, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re home? You’re alone? When will Gary get there? Does he know?”

“No. I don’t know. Janice called. I haven’t called Gary yet.”

“My god, Sondra. You could have—I can’t even—“ Again, her crying was audible.

“Mom, I’m home. I’m safe. Let me call you back later. Call Dad.”

“Yes, yes, I will. Oh god, Sondra.”

“I’m okay, Mom. Call Dad.”

“Call Gary.”

“Yes, yes. I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Mom.”

Sondra poured the hot tea into her cup. She closed her eyes. Nothing. She shook her head. She heard no one screaming. Windows were up, air conditioner running hard. They must have been screaming. And cursing. And praying. Did they have time for prayers? Again, she gave her a head a shake, as if a clearing away. A slate to be wiped clean.

She took a slow sip after blowing gently across the cup. Outside the summer sun was mid-morning bright and the crape myrtles were blooming.

Call Gary, need to hear his voice, let him hear my voice. She set down the cup and looked at her phone.

Sondra drew in a deep breath and pushed the cup away from her. She leaned forward so her forehead was resting on her folded arms. That van. Was that a mom driving? That van, that van, that van. Oh, god, that van.

Lyman 2021