An uneventful trip...

"It's been a pretty uneventful trip." With the exception of the typical sibling squabbles between Miss C and Miss E, the four plus hours we had been in the car passed by without too much stress. My recently purchased Ipod and the little gadget that allows us to play endless tunes through my Grand Am stereo served us well: a playlist for Mom and Dad and one for the girls kept everyone happy, for the most part. There was no Wiggles music within earshot, so the trio of people over the age of three were thrilled. We had reached the worst part of the trip: the Maine Turnpike. So close to home, yet still an hour or so away. There's nothing to look at and everyone is restless at this point. Fortunately, traffic was flowing quickly and we were making excellent time. We rounded one of the few, wide corners of the highway when we all we saw was dust. "What the hell?" I asked. Jon hit the brakes and the question was wordlessly answered. A dark SUV was tumbling off the shoulder an into the grassy shoulder area. "Holy Shit." I grabbed the cell phone and my fingers punched in 9-1-1. I prayed that the words I spoke weren't an incoherent jumble and that I gave enough information to get a squad to arrive quickly. The responder already knew about the accident--someone else must have called before me. Our car stopped abruptly a short distance from the wreck. Jon jumped out of the car and I looked over my shoulder. "Girls, do not move! Stay in the car. Daddy and I will be right back." Cailyn cried out a little, but I swung my door open and followed my husband out onto the side of the highway. I wouldn't consider myself a coward, but ordinarily I avoid seeing blood or injury. I don't even watch medical shows, because I can get a bit squeamish. Still, all my head kept saying was "If it were my me and my kids, I'd want help." What was once an SUV looked crumpled and burned out of control. A woman and a girl of about 10 stood nearby while two other men, other passersby who stopped to help, were calling out to them. All Jon and I could hear was something about "Gotta find the toy." Toy? I stopped short, glanced around and thought, "They're screaming about a toy?" Jon kept going toward them. "Here! He's over here!" Way up on the grassy embankment, at least 50 feet from the SUV was a boy. The two men ran up and removed him carefully from the hill and the scattered debris from both within and ouside the vehicle. Finally, we reached them. The boy was conscious and surprisingly alert, albeit cut up and bit bloody. Mom and sister talked with another woman, a nurse, who stopped. I wasn't even sure they realized that the boy was found. One of the men who found him was an EMT and talked into a crackling radio. The other man peppered the boy with questions, to see how extensively he was injured. My contribution to the scene: "Do you want something to help clean him up a little?" Someone said yes, and I rushed back through the building smoke and grabbed a handful of napkins and anything else I could find that I figured would help out. My girls were whimpering when I got back. I assured them that all was ok, and that I would come back again. "Don't go Mommy!" Cailyn pleaded. I told her to take care of her sister until I got back in a few minutes and off I went again. The napkins were used to help clean off the boy's face as Mom and sister sat near him. A few more moments passed and Jon decided to move our car even farther away, because the SUV was really raging now. "Stay with the girls!" I told him as he hurried to the car. All I could do was look at this boy. He was 7--Cailyn's age. I know they asked him to give his name. In spite of the trauma that just occurred, he spoke out right away. I provided little help, so I double-checked with the professionals there if they needed anything else (right...). When I heard the EMT comment that the SUV was probably gonna "go" soon, I made a dash to get back to my family. The car spewed thick, black smoke. It popped and hissed and the flames shot higher. I found out that this "big girl" can still move, even in a pair of summer sandals. When I closed the door to our car, the cool air of the AC was a relief and my girls cried. I told them that I promised I'd be back and I don't break promises. Jon and I only took the briefest of moments to exhange looks of disbelief before I barked at him to get out of there before the truck blew. The next day, we looked for news on the boy, wanting to know how the family was doing. Jon couldn't believe that not a single local station covered the story. "I see stuff all the time in the news about accidents on the turnpike," he commented. I kept scanning the news websites in our area and finally shook my head. "We won't find anything about it." "Why not?" I turned to him. "First of all, they didn't have to shut the highway down. No traffic. But, most of all, nobody died." Jon said nothing. "It's not news without a traffic jam or a death."