Grandma

The smell of gunpowder fills my nose as I regain consciousness. My ears are ringing. There’s a warm dampness on my head, and it’s moving down my forehead, face, and neck. I take a deep breath in, and a shooting pain hits my right side, so I take in some shallow breaths. I slowly open my eyes and blink hard. For a few seconds, I don’t recognize that I’m still in the car, and the airbags have been deployed. I try to get some of the moisture out of my eyes by blinking fast, crunching up my cheeks and mouth. I don’t want to use my hands since there could be gunpowder on them. Both arms are stinging. I look down at them without moving my neck, and there’s a redness slapped across both of them, with several lacerations. I don’t move as I shift my eyes to see where I am. There are several cracks in the windshield, and piles of dirt are clumped on the hood.

I have a thought. ‘What if I’ve broken my back?’ I need to stay completely still until help comes.

I look past the hood of my car to see where I am. Then it hits me like a bullet. I’m halfway down a cliff, and I can see sand below, maybe twenty feet away. If I move, will the car continue to fall? I breathe quickly with panic. My brain keeps repeating, ‘Oh god, oh god.’

“Get a grip,” I say out loud. “Remain calm. It’s going to be all right. I can do this.” I barely turn my head to see if I can locate my phone. Oh crap, it’s on the floor on the passenger side. I wait and listen intensely for sounds that may indicate someone is coming to help. But as soon as I tune in to the surrounding area, the car moves again. It jerks. I have no choice; I need to get out. Now.

The car is leaning down on a decline, but not horizontal to the cliff, so I’m somewhat upright. I’m pressed against the seatbelt, and it’s tight, probably from my body hitting against it as I plummeted down the cliff. I lift my right elbow, and with my fingers, fumble around for the seatbelt latch while looking straight ahead. It takes a few moments and some bungling to get the buckle to release. My seatbelt snaps across my body and gets hung up on my left arm. I move it away.

I lift my arm to find the window button. I press and nothing happens. Since the car is off, none of the electrical systems are working. Finally, I get brave enough to look over to my side. I turn my head to the left and, for the first time, I can see that my door is pressed against a boulder. Crap, even if I could have opened the window, it wouldn’t have helped. I turn to my right, and nothing is obstructing the view from the passenger side window.

The car shifts forward again.

I’ve forgotten about a possible spinal injury now; all I can think of is getting out before the car crashes onto the beach below. I push my fists into my seat to lift myself up, fighting gravity that insists I lean forward toward the dashboard. I make it to the passenger seat, where I have to take a break. The pain from what must be a cracked rib shoots through me. I take a bunch of shallow breaths and rest. I’m feeling weak, perhaps from the head injury I must have sustained in the crash. I’m terrified, and my body is shaking uncontrollably, but I push through. I’m determined to get out.

I try to open the door, but it only moves four or five inches. I try pushing it with my shoulder, but despite my effort, there’s no further movement. Something must be obstructing the door from the outside. I squeeze my butt cheeks and lift my shoulders and neck up so I can look out the window. I can’t see what the obstruction is, so I’m not sure what to do now. If I turn my body to press the door open with my feet, will it make the car move again? I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I may be 57, but I want to make it to retirement. I have children and grandchildren to love and be there for. My daughter just got out of an abusive relationship, and I need to be there for her to help her pick up the pieces now. I’m determined not to lose my life because of a stupid car accident I caused. Why was I driving so fast on such a curvy road, anyway? Why was I being so stupid?

I reach down to get my phone. No cell service. Which is not surprising, considering I’m in the middle of nowhere on Highway 1. Turning my body to face the door, I place both feet on it. I use all of my strength to push the door open. It moves another couple of inches with no additional movement from the car. Excellent, just enough space for my body to slide out. It takes a couple of minutes before I reach the outside, and then I need to rest again. The pain in my side is killing me. I lay on my back and look at the sky. It’s midday, and the sun is behind some low-lying clouds. I have to shift and pull out a rock under my butt so I can be more comfortable. I look over to my left and realize I’m too close to the car. If it falls, it may take me with it, so I sit up and shift my backside away from it before lying back down again.

I don’t feel well. My head pain is getting worse, and now I’m feeling nauseous as well.

I wake up to the sound of ripping metal. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep, but the sun is near the horizon of the ocean. The car is now on the beach below. I sit up and see the taillights. It’s almost as if someone planted the hood of the vehicle deep in the sand. I’m shaking with the realization that I could have been in there.

I’m not sure what to do next, so I look around to survey the area. Would it be easier to try to climb up, or should I try to make it down to the beach? I stand up to get a better look, and almost fall back down because of dizziness. I wait for a while, hoping the dizziness will subside. I stand up once more and survey the area again. I decide to go down. I’m scared of heights, so I scoot along on my butt. Thank goodness I’m wearing my favorite leather pants. It seems to be protecting me from stickers and rocks. It takes until sundown to reach the beach. I stand on the sand and look toward the car. What to do? Should I try to spend the night in the car or begin walking to find help? No one knows where I am, so no one will be looking for me. I decide to wait it out because it will be dark soon. The back door of the car has swung open, so I’m able to crawl in and lay down on the back of the front seats.

I’m thirsty and cold. It’s pitch dark when I wake up. My back is hurting from the lack of support between the seats. Everything else hurts too, and I’m scared. Suddenly, a thought hits me. What if the car crashed on the beach at low tide? What if the tide rises and covers it? The Pacific Ocean is freezing. But it’s dark and I can’t see anything, so there’s nothing I can do until the sun rises. I pull out my phone to check the time. It’s dead. Crap. I should have turned it off to save battery life. I tremble in despair. I can’t take much more; the pain and the overwhelming thirst are consuming me.

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but when I wake up again, it’s getting light. I look around and spot a half-empty container of water in the back door bottle holder. I don’t care how long it has been there. I drink all of it in a couple of gulps. It tastes okay, so I think I’ll be fine. I scoot out of the back door.

Standing on the beach, I scan the area to see which direction I should walk. But first, I look over at the trunk of the car. I determined that no matter how much it hurts, I need to get the contents out before I leave. The car has sunk further into the sand now, and past the front door, so I can reach it. It’s brutal. The pain is intense, but my determination is greater, and I manage to get everything out. When I’m done, the overwhelming thirst has returned.

I begin walking, and I notice the tide is coming in. Excellent timing. I walk perhaps half a mile down the beach before turning back to check how high the water might have risen around the car. All I can see from my vantage point is a couple of inches of the bumper above the water.

I don’t know how long I’d been walking, but it must have been several hours. The cliff isn’t as high in this area, so I climb up to find the road. But as I look down at myself for the first time, I notice I’m quite a sight. There’s blood all over my clothes and arms. I wonder as I climb whether this is going to make it easier or harder to catch a ride.

I was able to get a ride that day. I told the person who picked me up I had been hiking and had accidentally fallen. However, on the car ride back to my house, I realized I had left my purse in the car. Crap. Oh, and one other thing—my knitting needles. Double crap.

It’s been over a year since the accident. My daughter and my two grandchildren couldn’t be happier. Ever since my son-in-law disappeared, life has been so much better for them. And the car? I mean, HIS car was never found, along with my purse and the knitting needles in his chest.