Something That Never Happened

Nothing happened that evening. No ambulance appeared on a lightless stretch of country road inhabited mostly by crossing foxes and raccoons. No call was made to any next of kin. 

Long after the Earth put the sun to bed, as the stars sprinkled cricket-sized spotlights onto the tips of maple leaves changing colour, I wearily made the marathon drive back to Toronto. The interior car lights highlighted strands of hair that I caught through the rearview mirror whenever I checked on my passengers. Roads, long as seasons stretched into the abyss, with no promise of a freeway or restroom. My GPS indicated a crossroad ahead.

Sneaker on the brake peddle lightly, I stretched time to navigate my next move. Taking the wrong route would ply time further, pushing back our youngest passenger’s bedtime. I didn’t want that. So I slowed down to save time.

It was basement black when the car stopped at the intersection. The image on the GPS was straightforward. Literally, the arrow pointed me forward. No turns to be made.

My Nike shifted from brake to gas and I rolled forward. Even though I knew I was meant to go straight, I hesitated. I hadn’t directed the power of my German car to charge through the intersection. Once more, I looked left, and then right.

“Holy fu–”

Every ounce of energy in my body was directed to my right foot as it stomped the rectangular brake peddle, stopping the car, the power of our momentum throwing all passengers’ heads forward.

Whooooooooooooooshhhhhhhhh.

A heavy-duty pickup truck streaked by us, as fast as a jet on takeoff. Its imprint shook my car, and my life. Three feet. There had been three feet between the passing battle ram and our sanctuary. Maybe two; I’m being generous.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” I said to my passengers. “I didn’t see that truck at all.”

“We didn’t either,” they said.

“Oh, that’s so my fault. We could have died there.” I was in a state, every ounce of blood in places it didn’t belong. “I almost killed us,” I said softly.

“It’s okay, nothing happened,” someone said.

—

“God – show me a sign that you exist. Fix my ailing back, heal my addict daughter and I’ll know for sure. I’ll trumpet your virtues and work in your honour for the rest of my life.”

Have you uttered something similar? 

It doesn’t work that way.

Thank you, God, or whatever you are.

I will work in your honour for the rest of my life. Though not a man of religious faith, God spoke to me that evening. And do you know what he/she/it said? 

Nothing.

As is often the case, we look and listen for answers in human ways, sometimes forgetting that all creation emerges from nothing.