The Fine Line Between Wisdom and Cowardice

UNFORTUNATELY, NONFICTION - A TWO-MINUTE READ

Sometimes, due to no fault of our own, we can find ourselves in dire straits and dangerously close to really bad outcomes - such as our own untimely demise or that of another. I’ve been close to the former a couple times, but never close to protecting my own life at the likely expense of another. That was until the first summer after I’d graduated from college and started out on what would become a five-month hitch-hiking jaunt.

I’d initially spent a few days with my family in New Jersey, and then headed toward northern California before exploring the southwest. After three months and a few short stints working, I looped around through Colorado and then back toward the northwest. In the process, I was gifted with an unusually long ride with a guy from Idaho. As we reached Portland, Oregan, he was headed south and me north toward Tacoma, Washington. One of the most memorable things about the driver was that he was willing to go out of his way to drop me off headed north on the interstate - planning to make a U-turn at the next exit.

Since it was about 2 AM and we were immersed in a summer downpour, he dropped me off beneath the first bridge. Probably an hour later, one car swerved onto the shoulder, maybe a hundred yards beyond where I stood with my backpack.

I ran as fast as I could, hoping that he’d be less likely to zip off. However, between the dark, the occasional traffic, and the teeming rain, it was difficult to sort out what was going on up ahead. First, I heard a guy yelling. Then with the old car still fifty feet away, the passenger door flew open, and I saw something fall out onto the curb.

Within a few seconds, I saw a motionless, savagely beaten woman with her head on the asphalt shoulder, her legs still partially on the car seat. Instinctively I reached down toward her. She let out a barely audible “Help me,” which was immediately drowned out by some monster in the utter darkness who yelled - “you touch her, and I’ll beat the f’in shit out of you.” Slowly backing away, I glanced over my shoulder and spotted a tractor trailer which had parked under the same bridge where I had been.

I started running back toward the semi in hopes that two of us might be able to rescue the dying woman. But a few short seconds later, I heard the car’s engine rev. Glancing back, I saw her head slowly come up off the pavement as he hauled at least her body back into the car. And I stared at the taillights as they slowly disappeared . . . but I can still see them.

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