smashed awake

Our apartment is noisy. I hadn’t really acknowledged that fact until recently, but ignoring the truth doesn’t change anything. We live in a noisy area. On the corner of a very busy intersection, the only relief from the constant hum of passing cars comes late at night and early morning. Even in the wee hours, it’s like living near a freeway; with our bedroom window opened, a car or motorcycle driving past us on Olympic Boulevard sounds like it’s driving through our apartment. (Our first apartment in Hollywood was across the street from a fire station, so I suppose this is somewhat better.)

Built into life on a busy intersection is the daily sound of honking horns, speeding sirens, and worse, squealing tires followed by crunching metal. I hear at least one accident per week from this apartment. Most of them are minor, but after the crashing sound of metal collapsing and plastic shattering, I’m always afraid that I’ll hear the hysterical screams of someone realizing they have just killed someone, severely injured someone, or severely injured themselves.

Last night my wife and I were jolted out of our sleep at 1:30am by what felt and sounded like a car hitting our room. Since we live on the third floor, that’s not exactly possible, however I woke up terrified. I heard a car squeal out of control, a horn honk and a then a thunderous crash. I snapped awake, my heart racing. I waited for screams. Thankfully they did not come.

“Are you okay? Is everyone okay?” I heard from outside.

“How fast were you going?! Someone screamed.

“Holy shit.” Holy shit. My fucking car.” The first voice said.

My wife and I listened, our hearts still pounding. Despite my wife’s protests, I had to go look. I knew if I didn’t, sleep would be impossible, I put on some clothes and walked outside.

I was not the first neighbor to walk down. People stared from robes and carelessly thrown on outfits, arms crossed in front of them, hair still asleep. A Porsche sat embedded in a retaining wall in front of our apartment building, still leaking green radiator coolant onto the sidewalk beneath it. It’s headlights shot awkwardly up over the flower bed and smashed retaining wall in an alarming and upsetting angle. Behind the Porsche, a brand new BMW two-seater sat crumpled on the shoulder of the road.

“Don’t worry about anything. My insurance will cover all of this,” Porsche owner said.

Silence from BMW owner who could only manage a nod as he looked at his smashed trophy car, still wearing a dealer sticker, which in California means it’s less than a few months old.

This car looked a few days old.

I walked back inside. I was relieved that everyone was okay, but I wanted to go yell at the Porsche driver. His skid marks were at least 50 feet yards long, which means he was speeding around a treacherous corner on the road that I live on; the road that I have, on other nights, walked my dog on at 1:30am; The road that my wife could have easily been out walking on when he smashed into our building.

It brought to mind an image I have of my father from when we were younger.

While playing outside, a kid in an old Camaro came speeding up the neighborhood road that we lived on. My dad sprinted out to the middle of the road screaming at the top of his lungs, “SLOW DOWN!” The car had to screech it’s brakes and swerve to miss him. The kid inside was shaken up, but my dad wasn’t even close to done. He gave that kid an earful that I’ll bet slowed that kid down on our road for the rest of his life.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here.

Last night, sleep was difficult even though I knew everyone was okay. The sounds of cars racing by outside seemed louder somehow; more invasive; more evil. I woke up this morning still thinking about it. Tonight, as I sit here in my bedroom writing about it, I can feel the tension still lingering outside. The wall is still crumbled, the plastic parts still litter the sidewalk and the gentle breeze the passing cars generate blows through our window reminding us that we’re all only one bad decision away from something awful.

What are any of us doing here?

Comments

[Itil]

Look at the size of your streets man! I live in scotland and we have like, tiny streets compared to that goliath thing!

[lara]

woa. i'm glad no one was hurt. hopefully it didn't wake lucy!!!

[Mumun]

I have an uncle out in farm country in Pennsylvania. Years ago, a guy insisted on taking the narrow avenue that passed his farmhouse at freeway speeds, endangering deer and his own children alike. When communication did not work, my uncle bypassed the driver and addressed the truck itself - with a shotgun.

Not a good approach to use in California - although some do occasionally. Just this week, there were news reports of two separate shootouts between motorists up in San Francisco.

In 2001, I saw a man die at the intersection of Third and La Brea. He had a beautiful, old Mustang that he obviously loved a lot. It was immaculate. I was in a car a short ways behind him, and watched him made the last decision of his life. He tried to sneak in a right-hand turn ahead of an oncoming ambulance. He didn't make it. The ambulance entered his automobile through the driver's door. They hit with enough force to slide into several other cars that had pulled over to let the ambulance pass.

I wondered what the driver's calculation had been at that critical moment, when he might have simply hung out and let the emergency vehicle go by. And I thought about my uncle. A round of gunpowder at the right moment would have wrecked a beautiful Mustang, but might have slowed someone down in time to save at least one life.

[Jen]

I read the first few lines of this http://www.livejournal.com/users/zeppo/115074.html and thought it was somehow gonna be the same story!

[Todd]

Speed (MPH) equals the square root of (30)(D)(f). 30 is a mathematical constant. "D" equals distance (assuming 100% breaking or all 4 tires breaking for the entire distance of the skid). (f) is the drag factor, also know as the coefficient of friction. This should be measured at the scene, but .73 is a conservative estimate. Based on this, we know that Mr. Porsche was driving NO LESS than 57.31 MPH. This does not take into account the damage to the vehicles which would have to be measured at the scene.

[Shane]

That's why it's awesome to have a brother who used to be a cop and now works for Homeland Security.

[Ambulance Nurse]

People drive like crazy)) I think such an accident is a kind of a warning. We gotta be more careful!