Karl's Lament

*This story refers to death by vehicular accident.*

Karl stood in the cold and dark living room, rooted to the floor with anguish. Chin on his chest. Fists clenched. Eyes silvery with unshed tears. In his mind’s eye, the movie started again.

He and Karla were in the 4Runner, heading north on 494. They had left the Nugget pretty late and the snow was coming down good so it was tough to see the road. Karla had mentioned going up Williston but Karl, out of habit, had already taken the right onto Excelsior toward 494. Then he barked a little at Karla when she suggested turning around.

Took the glow off the evening. The nice dinner. Karla laughing at his corny jokes. Sparkling after a couple glasses of wine. Karl had really wanted a drink. Saw Karla watching him out of the corner of his eye when the waiter, who looked about 12 years old, was taking their order. Karla’s small smile when he got a coke. Maybe he was still a bit sore about not getting at least one beer.

Why he was being stubborn and taking 494. Why it was so quiet in the truck cab. Just the icy snow tinking off the windshield. The wipers quickly tick-tocking but not doing much. Karl could barely see past his headlights reflecting off the whiteness. Winter at night in Minnesota.

Then Karla’s left hand moved to his knee. He glanced down, ready to maybe start it over, try to get the night back on track.

He looked back up into headlights, something big headed right at them. He pulled the wheel sharp to the right, but they still got hit and the truck went into a hard spin. Karl trying to steer into it.

Realizing the sound he was hearing was not the tires but Karla, screaming. Karl looking to her and the fear in her eyes, oh, Good Lord, the pure terror, stabbing him in the heart. Then he felt the tires leaving the road. Then black. Then nothing.

Karl, standing in the dark living room. Looking at a wall. Family pictures sliced into strips by moonlight.

The first showing Karla’s bright smile in her wedding gown. Karl and Karla. How she loved to say their names together. Told all her friends how it showed they were meant to be together.

The next picture had them together again with the baby. Karla wanted to call him Kent. Then they would all be K’s. Karl resisted but eventually came around and told people he was named after Kent Hrbek so he was not happy at all when Kent refused to play baseball. Or any sports at all.

Kent’s high school graduation picture showed his long blonde hair. Just like Karla’s. Two peas in a pod. Nothing like Karl. He didn’t understand either one of them. So, he spent his time in the garage, putting away Budweisers while the “girls” were in the kitchen.

The last picture, Kent and Jose’. Josie, Karl always thought to himself. He once said it out loud to Karla, but she wasn’t going to have any of it and in a very rare display of real anger, told Karl to never say it again or else. Karl wasn’t sure what “or else” meant but was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out. Back to the garage. Back to the Buds.

Now he would give anything for Karla to be mad at him. To be anything. As long as she was here with him. Karl could only think in despair how it was his fault she was gone. How he should have been paying more attention to the road. 

Karl was a proud man. Never asked anyone for anything. But he was asking now. Looking to the ceiling, palms out, beseeching. He would do anything. He would quite drinking for good. He would be a better husband. A better father. Just to have her back. To make up for all of his mistakes.

The front door flew open, and Kent came into the house with wind-blown snow following him. He automatically reached out and flipped the switch, so the hallway brightened and spilled some into the living room. Karl faded back a bit, surprised by Kent’s arrival.

Kent kicked the door with his heel, slamming it shut. His normally high-pitched voice almost shrill telling Jose’ on the phone how he knew his Dad’s drinking and driving would end up killing his Mom someday. How he couldn’t stand it anymore at the hospital and came back to his parent’s house to escape the police and their fake sympathy, their fake condolences. How they were trying to tell him what exactly had happened.

He knew what had happened. Kent was stomping up and down the hallway, telling Jose’ how he was so very angry at his Dad. How his Dad had robbed them of so much with his boozing.

Then Kent was telling Jose’ to hold on, someone else was calling. Standing at end of the hallway, just outside the living room, Kent fumbled with the phone, put it on speaker and it was the police sergeant from the hospital.

The police sergeant’s voice was calm and polite. He said he was checking to see Kent was alright after leaving the hospital so abruptly. Then he said that he had not been able to get into all the details before Kent had left, but he might want to know the doctor’s initial exam indicated his father had zero alcohol in his system.

And, that if his father had not steered the truck to the right, there would have been a head-on collision. That the other driver was in the wrong lane. The other driver being a young mom with a van full of children. The police sergeant said Kent’s father had done everything he possible could have and his actions had saved the lives of eight people. Then, finally, once again, the police sergeant offered his condolences on Kent’s loss.

Kent did not hear the condolences; he was looking into the living room. At the flickering silver presence by the window.

“Dad?” Kent whispered.

Karl looked back at Kent and thought, maybe everything wasn’t so bad after all. Then, Karl stepped into the moonlight and joined Karla.