[Trigger warnings: addiction struggles and death/physical harm to children]
[Names have been changed out of respect for the dead and to protect the privacy of the community]
It’s been over fifteen minutes of debating with myself. Do I say something to him or not? Would he even take the warning seriously? Would he just write me off as the town lunatic or, worse, have me committed for being mentally unsound? Would I ever be able to look Lilly in the eye again if I don’t say anything?
That last question is the one that sticks the most stubbornly in my head, echoing throughout my internal struggle. I can’t escape it and I know there is no way around it. I have to say something.
I walk down the street to Eric’s home and am reminded how quickly the sidewalk quality deteriorates as you move away from the town center with cracks deep enough to lose whole wallets in, nevermind a single coin, and great slabs of concrete heaved from years of freezing and thawing cycles. I stop at the bottom of a similarly cracked and uneven concrete stairwell making a roughly one story ascent up the hillside to the home’s entry. As I face the house, I glance to my right, where the street meanders of into the town center, and to the left, where the road vanishes suddenly in the perilous blind curve of Deadman’s Turn.
I try to talk myself out of going up the steps because maybe he is not even home yet. That excuse evaporates when I turn to check behind me. Eric’s beat up vehicle, constructed more of rust than metal at this point, is parked in the small gravel lot across the street facing the house. That’s it, no more delaying it. I straighten myself up and begin the climb up the exterior stairs.
Not even halfway up the stairs, a friendly voice greets me from the front porch.
“Hey there, haven’t seen you in awhile!” Eric smiles down at me and leans forward to rest his elbows on the railing. He has always been slender, but he looks especially gaunt today in the harsh late afternoon sun. The wrinkles in his face deepen and multiply as he smiles and the gray curls of hair sticking out from under his baseball cap threaten to creep into his eyes as even they smile.
“Hey, Eric. How’re your folks doing?” I reply, relieved to not have to go straight to the hard conversation.
We exchange a few pleasantries about the warming weather and family, but it isn’t long before his smile slumps. He studies my face for a moment and then asks, “so, what can I do for you, neighbor?”
I gulp, draw a deep breath, and start. “Eric, I need to tell you about something that is going to happen, but first, I will tell you about something that already happened…”
[REDACTED]
Eric has not taken a single drag from his cigarette in at least five minutes. The ash just tumbles off in silent, little cascades with each tremble of his lip. His eyes stare off in the direction of the far wall, but it is clear his mind is still in the memory. Finally he clears his throat and breaks the silence, removing the cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray on the railing before speaking.
“I never told nobody about that before… and I know John took it to the grave.” He paused and looked up suddenly to lock eyes with me. “So, what’s this got to do with something else gonna happen?”
“I just needed you to know that this is for real so you would take this next part seriously… I’m sorry. Tonight you are going to get drunk and in the morning you will still be drunk when you get into your vehicle to go to the pharmacy for your mom’s medicine. At that intersection there-“ I point to the end of the block headed in toward town, “-you hit a family in the crosswalk. Two-year-old Bella dies on the scene and seven-year-old Anthony is permanently scarred, physically and mentally.”
Eric has the thousand yard stare as he looks through me and into the depths of some unknown universe. I can see on his face that he believes me as he silently processes everything I have said. The silence grows deafening as each second passes. Or is it minutes? Whatever the case, the golden hour light is now bathing the entire street as the sun settles into the horizon.
I continue, “You can stop it from happening. You know what happens and the events leading up to it, so you know what to avoid.”
“To avoid?” Eric’s eyes return to the here and now and he is back to looking me in the eyes, pleading in them this time.
“This all starts because of getting drunk tonight.”
“Ah.” He nods lightly and lights a new cigarette.
“Eric…” I start, but he is miles away again, staring off into the setting sun. There is nothing more I can do here and I know it. “You take care, ok?”
As dusk creeps into night, I pretend to turn in early for the night and turn out the lights so I can watch more discretely from my porch. It isn’t long before his poker buddies start arriving. Pretty soon the night air is filled with the chatter of indistinct conversations punctuated with bouts if laughter. The sound is reminiscent of rolling thunder in a distant summer storm, building and waning, but more continuous. The noise all begins to fade to the background as my rouse of sleep becomes reality.
I wake with a start. I rush to grab my phone to check the time and exhale with relief - it is still early. I shuffle to the bathroom to brush my teeth and find myself staring at my mirror image. The guilt and anxiety is starting to really take a toll, especially in the area around my eyes.
I boil some water on the stuff and absent-mindedly dip the teabag in. I return to my discrete perch on my enclosed front porch and settle into the pile of throw pillows on my porch swing.
It is mid-morning when Eric finally emerges from his front door and stumbles down the steps toward the road, barely catching himself before falling. He fumbles in his pockets and stands, swaying forward and back. He is staring at the object in his hand that he pulled from his pocket, but he is too far away for me to see what it is.
He takes a jerking step forward and nearly topples as he misjudges the step off the curb. He pauses, still swaying, in the middle of the roadway, as if considering his next move and I rise from my seat to get a clearer view. My heart sinks as he resumes his awkwardly zig-zagging trek and his destination is now crystal clear.
He stops again upon arriving at the driver’s side door of his vehicle, but I can’t quite see what is happening so I lean in closer to the window. Eric suddenly looks up directly at my porch and I drop to the floor to avoid being seen. I am on the floor for nearly a minute when I remember that the sunlight outside creates a mirror effect on the windows and I am not visible from that distance. I creep back up to the window to peek out and see Eric is now staring down the street toward the crosswalk.
I mouth a silent prayer, but it is cut short as Eric opens the door and falls into the driver’s seat. There is a loud wrenching sound as the door slams shut. Moments later, the engine screeches to a start and whines as the poorly maintained vehicle struggles in the equilibrium of an idle.
Despite my windows all being closed, I can hear everything as though I am standing outside my home. Then it happens. The clunk of the vehicle shifting into gear. The pitch of the engine’s whine changes slightly and the parking lot gravel crunches as the wheels roll forward across the unpaved lot.
I am fully standing now, my heart in my throat. I turn to look down the street to where the family is approaching the crosswalk, two children leading the way, collecting flowers and leaves off of the ground as they go. My eyes dart back to Eric’s vehicle as he pulls up to the roadway. Back to the family that has now arrived at the crosswalk, Lilly is deep in conversation with another adult and is trailing behind the kids ever so slightly. This is it, but I am frozen in place. Eric turns on to the roadway with the lurch of a too heavy foot on the acceleration pedal.
He is already four or five yards along when I realize… he turned the other way and is driving away from the crosswalk in the direction of the sharply curving road out of town. He chose a different future. The family crosses the road without incident, oblivious to their narrow escape from tragedy.
I inhale sharply and turn away, unable to watch the receding taillights as Eric speeds away. I open the door to my home as the distant sound of metal ripping and trees snapping thunders down the street. I pause, but I can’t bring myself to look.
Eric is pinned in his now mangled vehicle in the ravine beside the curve, but will bleed out long before the ambulance arrives. I don’t need to look to know how Eric’s ill-fated drive has concluded. I already saw it happen last night in my other premonition.
Everytime there are two premonitions. Two alternate realities, both ending in tragedy. Someone will die and it is my choice of action or inaction that decides who. I can’t pretend anymore that leaving it to fate absolves me of responsibility because my choice to not intervene seals the fate for one party or the other. The times early on when I tried to prevent anyone from dying, everyone died. Now I make the best choices I can, but there is no “good” choice.
I take one last look back at the crosswalk. The family is now across the street. The children are back to playing as the adults try to shepherd the children away from view of the collision. Lilly furrows her brow so deeply that I can see it from this distance. She is on the phone with emergency services. The sirens wail in the distance, growing louder.
It is when Eric exhales his final breath that I will be flooded with visions of the futures, forthcoming and stolen away, of all involved. Only then do I learn if I made the best choice in the cosmic scheme of things. In the ethical and psychological exercise of the Trolley Problem, did I throw the switch to the tracks that do the least harm or does the Butterfly Effect of my decision yield a monstrous hurricane in time?
I break down into tears. Not because of what has just played out, but because I’m not even given a moment to process what has occurred and the ripple effect of what I have done.
A new pair of premonitions is already playing in my mind’s eye.