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3/31/01 0231 – Muskagee, Montana. Route 9. A man driving a Chevy Blazer is on his way home after having spent the evening watching boxing with his buddies. His blood alcohol limit was below the legal limit. On a wooded stretch of the road, the man comes upon a deer in the road. In an attempt to dodge the animal, the Blazer flips, rolls, and slams into a tree in a very harsh impact. There the vehicle rests, smoking on its back, with the driver, very badly broken and battered, still inside. He was wearing his seatbelt. There is nobody around for miles. Nobody that can help. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!!!! There is no way I can get out of this one. I’m stuck; I’m fucked. That fucking deer. I should have just hit that fucking deer, plowed right through the sonofabitch. Now look at me. I don’t believe this. This can’t be happening. I hope that deer fucking got hit by a truck. A different one, I mean. Is there anything I can do? There has to be some way of saving myself. There is always a way, right? Just got to find the RIGHT way and do it in time. Or is it too late for that? Is the window of opportunity already closed for me? What is the right way? FUUUUUUCK!!!!! I hope the car is okay. I wonder what happened to the deer? Escape. Is there any? There HAS to be! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. If I would have left five minutes sooner or later, maybe all of this would never have happened. The fucking deer would have moved on or not been there yet, I would have driven right past the spot in the road. Or if I hadn’t gone to hang with the guys at all. I’d be peacefully asleep in my bed at home, lying next to my wife. My wife. What will she think? What will they tell her? How will she take it? Smile. Man she has a wonderful smile. It shines like a spotlight. Why is she with me? She could have anybody she wanted. But she stays with me. Even through all the bad times, she stays with me. That black hair. It’s like an organism unto itself. It moves, it flows, as if with a purpose all unto itself. Beautiful. Stunning. Her taste. I don’t want to be nothing. I don’t want to be infinite. That night in Vegas. God was that something. The bad times. I still don’t understand why I did what I did. I don’t regret it exactly. But I regret how it hurt Cassandra. I won’t say I should never have had the affair, but I will say how sorry I am for it. That hair. That smile. That taste. God. I miss her already. That laugh. That commitment. I miss her already. The boys. Absent a father. What fine young men they will become. Without me. I am sorry not so much that they will lose me, but that I will lose them. Not be able to see the progress, the growth, the fine young men. Still playing with Legos. Captains of industry one day. I miss them already. Will they understand? They hug me and the world stops. Family. I have fucked up. I know that. So many “could have’s”, no more time. But I did what I knew how to do, how I knew to do it. I don’t really mind my job all that much. The guys are great, the work keeps me in good shape. The routine is….comfortable. It is….life. It is what I know. It is my day. My day. My day. What time is it? Is it 3 AM yet? Jill. Boy was she beautiful. More beautiful then Cassandra, in her own way. I had forgotten passion. I had forgotten pure animal lust. I had forgotten “dirty” sex. Indulgence can be a sin. I’m so sorry Cassandra. I’m so sorry. I have my faults. I have my problems. I have my history. But I think I am a good man. I was given the tools and I did with them what I could. They hug me and the world stops. The world stops. Is it the tools or what you do with them that make the measure of a man? I am not a captain of industry. I am a soldier, a soldier of humanity. I do whatever is in my place to do. I do my place. I do what I can. I am just a man. I am a man. People care about me. I know they do. Friends, neighbors….family. Will they care if I die? Some will. I will be missed by some. Many, even. That’s something. Not that I will be missed, but that some care about me enough to miss me. I am connected. I have effect. Love and loved. I’m just a man. That’s it. But on the other hand, I’m a man. That’s something, isn’t it? Yes. It is. I remember the beach. How good it feels to be playing with the kids, the sun warming my naked back almost to the point of intolerance. They should do that again. Experiences. I have had as many as anybody else, even if mine were more mundane. They were what they were. They were experiences. Mundane or not, they WERE. That waterfall… I am connected. How good that feels. As a boy. Catching crayfish. Getting bit by that dog. Ha! That was pain then. The birth of Tom. God we were scared. So many variables. Such perfection resulted. The scrubs, the smell of sterility, the screams of the pain of creation. The creation. My workbench. The aches in my joints. The creation. My mother. The creation. I’ve done it. I have experienced. How good that feels. No time to be selfish. I’m ready now. I’m ready. Ready. Henry Josephson, 46, died on impact. The accident was approximately 6 seconds in duration.
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