#SweetMaryKane Federal Criminal
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Is she going to do it?
Is she going to miss a blog post - not one, but TWO weeks in a row!? Well, yes. Almost? Kind of.
There seems to be so many things as of late that I want to say. Things I love, things I've just discovered, things that amaze me, intrigue me, fascinate and inspire me. Small things. Things that frustrate me. Things that make me happy. Random things and focused things. Some how, altogether, nothing at all. And that is why this is not a real blog post.
I have a tendency to write in a sort of erupting fashion. I ruminate for days, sometimes weeks, quietly about something and then I sit down with a joint and it oozes out of my finger tips. I pause to smoke, and I smile at Bob Marley on the wall next to me. I breath deeply. I shut my eyes sometimes. I look back at the screen and start to nitpick, but remind myself to read the sign on the wall Write First. Edit Later. I know the sign is lying to me, I won't have time to 'edit later'. I smoke, and I write. I occasionally feel disassociated as though my fingers and my mind are working together from different planets. I have been interrupted with the question "What is your blog about this week?" And been unable to respond without pulling the blog up to check. I love it. When I have something to say and my fingers just has to sprinkle the keyboard with some message I love it. Today, however, that is less than true.
Today I don't have that 'urge' to write. Believe me, it is not a lack of medication either. I'm perplexed by the change. Is it just that I missed last week? Am I simply exhausted and something has got to give? I don't know what it is, but nothing can change that it's my thing and sometimes I love the blazes out of this thing so I will fight for it.
So there it is. Thoughtless. Written. Published. Amateur. You're welcome.
The only thing that is different this week is I don't have a message or a story really. If I had to pick out a message, I suppose it would be to take better care of yourself and do the things that you want to do that you love to do because now is your time. Now is my time. Right now, is the only time.
One Love ~ SMK
P.S. Oh yeah and NEVER SURRENDER
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Thursday Pot Thoughts: Volume 4 (not twenty ... yet).
I may have told you guys this story before, but it has been on my mind lately a lot, so I'm going to talk about it. One night this summer my whole family was piled in the car on our way up the interstate heading home. Just before a white SUV whizzed past us my boyfriend said "Look at this guy!" We were traveling at least 75 mph maybe 80 mph even, and that vehicle just blew by us like we were at a stand still. Within seconds I muttered "He's going to lose control of that vehicle." pointing at it as I watched it began to shudder during a lane change. Sure enough we saw it head sharply toward the median and then back toward the center lane. Did they hit the wall? I thought.
We all smelled it before we saw the break lights and in an instant were at a dead stop. It seemed like eons before my brain pieced it together. What do you see? The SUV is stopped at an angle in the center lane. I cannot see drivers side. Did they hit the median? There's a body in the road. WHAT!? There is a body in the road. Where did it come from? The windows are all intact. Slow motion set in as the gears in my mind turned trying to solve the puzzle. And then it happened, the SUV pulled forward 100 yards into the left lane. There was a motorcycle under the SUV. You don't have your phone. "HAZARDS!" I declared "I don't have a phone, find yours and call 911." I'm out of the car. "Stay in the car." I say to the back seat in a tone no child would ever question. I'm dressed for a birthday party, but I jog toward the injured man in my heels regardless. Not everyone is stopping. He lifts he head up and makes eye contact with me as I approach. I'm almost to him when he reaches for the face mask he was wearing. He's not wearing a helmet. "Sir. Please do not move." I instruct him. I know he comprehends me because he immediately puts his arm back at his side and his forehead to the street. "I am a CNA!" I hear a young woman exclaim. I tag out. KIDS! Not everyone is stopping! My head is battling itself with priorities. PLATE!
"Get the plate," I hear my boyfriend call as if we're having the same experience. I turn back to get the number only to find it's brand new and the tinted windows are too dark to read the temporary tag. I dash back to the car and ask the man parked behind me not to move his car. He is a prison security guard in uniform, he agrees. I look at the faces of my children. They are wide eyed but not hysterical. I hold up one finger and nod at them, they nod back. Traffic already direct the traffic! I couldn't honestly say how we communicated, hand signals, yelling, telepathically, I think it was probably all of the above, but my boyfriend and I took up the traffic controlling. Miracle! We are in line with an on-ramp and an ambulance just happens to be heading up it. Maybe three minutes have passed. The sun is setting. From no where a man jumps over the median and begins running at us. He doesn't make it to me before my boyfriend intervenes. He is dressed in biker clothing. The man was waiting to meet his friend who never arrived. We send him to the hospital. He verifies that is indeed his missing friends bike.
My boyfriend manages to close off the left side of the highway with the help of other drivers forming a blockade with us. I am stopping and starting traffic from the right lane into the on ramp lane where they can get around the accident if no one is coming up the ramp. I have no means to block this route, other than my body, which loses in a fight to a car every time. A car comes speeding up the on-ramp, and I gasp. They hit no one. My boyfriend comes to my aid and begins directing the oncoming ramp traffic to slow down. We have no flares. They can't see him. Another car zooms past as he raises his arms, willing them to slow down. He's going to try to cross. I hear the engine revving up before I even see the black coupe, but I can't see the driver. I'm fixated on my boyfriend who has stepped out in front of this car to get it's attention. Time froze, and I saw every possibility in that moment. My brain flashed threw clip after clip of outcomes until my mind zeroed in on the one that it wanted. He twisted and leapt into a matrix fast float out of harms way. We don't jump that way, people only move that way in the movies, but he did. Safety praise Jah! The car slowed and missed the EMTs also.
Abruptly traffic from both directions stopped. Ten minutes have passed. Police have arrived and shut down the interstate. I am so relieved to be back in the car with my children. My boyfriend is running around talking to other witnesses and police. You should have taken pictures before they moved him. I grab my tablet and snap a picture of the bike as it lie, from my car door. I want my boyfriend to get back in the car. He doesn't. The officers inform us that the driver had been apprehended a quarter of a mile up the interstate where they lost control of the vehicle. They had not hit anyone else. Three more hours pass before we are told they will call the officer on the on ramp and let him know we're coming down. It's well past the hour for bed on a school night. They don't call and we can't pass the squad car without it moving. The officer gets out of his car and is approaching ours swiftly pulling his mag-lite from his belt as he does. "Where did you come from?" he shines the light on us and heads back to move his car without listening to our explanation.
The next day I Google search the accident. I find two links that seem to reference the accident but when I click them the both redirect me to an 'article has been removed' page. In the following weeks I searched several times over and came up with zip. Who the devil was in that SUV? I can not even find out if the man survived. I give up. I resign that whoever was driving that SUV was important enough to be protected and so I would never find anything more out. I don't search it and I forget the date for months.
Then suddenly I begin remembering the man's face clear as day, the perplexity in his eyes. I remember thinking how much worse his internal injuries must have been at that speed than what his outward physique revealed. What did you say to him? I wish that I would have said "Sir, my name is Sweet Mary Kane and I am here to help you. Please attempt to lay still in case you have a spinal injury. Someone is calling 911 right now." I wish that I would have offered more comfort than "Sir. Please don't move." I wish I could have asked his name and sent flowers. You wish you knew if he made it. That's true. Perhaps today is the day I Google it again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)

