Stop Shivering by Avery Roche

Avery Roche is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest

 

Pain. This is a word I am intimately familiar with. In fact, it is at the heart of my whole testimony. Everyone has their own unique relationship with pain. Their own horror stories. Their own way of surviving it. Some have been tossed deep into its depth. Some have been cut brushing along its sharp edges. Some have only gotten close by peering through a window into someone else’s suffering.

Before, I might have claimed to understand pain. I might have said not only do I know what forgiveness means, but that it couldn’t be that difficult. I might have said my faith was unshakable. I might’ve thought it was simple to keep the heart of that faith beating. I might’ve told you that I prayed often and with my complete self.

I cannot say that those thoughts would be untruthful, just ignorant. I cannot pretend to know everything now, but I do know pain.

CHAPTER 1: Saturday the 11th, 1:24 a.m. EST.

When it happened, the first thing I could focus on was my teeth.

My teeth.

They were gone. The void in the front of my mouth had me guessing I was missing at least eight of my top teeth. I distinctly felt the bar from my permanent retainer. I had no idea what was holding it together. In the space where my teeth should have been, remained only a thin metal rod.

The tongue is highly sensitive, that’s all I could think as I guessed over and over how many teeth were actually missing. What felt like eight to me, could be six or even four. I had no way of knowing.

My brain could only process so much. The next detail I registered was white—a dull expanse of color, devoid of any discernible shape. That did not take long to figure out. An airbag. Tunnel vision protected my mind from the details around the airbag and blurred my surroundings.

It was here I met Adrenaline; my angel. She lifted my fingers to the seatbelt and pushed down with strength I did not have. Her hand moved as if it were mine, only it opened the door for me as though someone else had come to the rescue from the outside. That was not the case. I remember falling like you fall in dreams. I knew I was falling but I could not feel it. I was eager to wake up wrapped in my comforter, maybe that was why I could not feel anything.

Opening my eyes slowly I knew I was not in my bed. My bed was not full of gravel. My pillow was not this filthy curb inches from my face. I did not sleep in this position.

My teeth.

I had never been hurt in my life. Not even a bee sting. A car crash seemed silly. Impossible. That is something you hear about happening to a friend of a friend’s aunt. Something you watch in a movie. I was sure if this was truly happening, I would feel it in every fiber of my being. The only thing that felt real was my teeth. I knew they were gone.

My teeth.

How could I smile now? I lost my smile. I should have smiled with my teeth more when I had them. How had I taken something so obvious for granted my whole life? My tongue searched my mouth every couple seconds as it tried to find its missing pieces.

My teeth.

My mom would know what to do. She would help me fix them. My mom. What would she say? What would she do if she could see me right now? I wondered how messed up I must have looked and then brushed the thought away; I knew I was going to wake up soon. I would call her in the morning to tell her this nightmare I was having. My mom. She would tell me to pray. Can you pray in a dream? I would pray in case this was real.

Photo of statue of Mary and baby
Hail Mary by Cintia Regina. CC license.

Hail Mary, the Lord is with thee… no that didn’t sound right. Holy Mary, blessed art thou . . . no . . . the Lord is with thy womb, Jesus? . . . I knew this prayer. I had said this prayer everyday for as long as I could remember. Why was it so difficult to say? Each word would come to my mind slowly and unsure. Maybe it was my nerves. I must be tired. Pray for us sinners . . . no that’s the ending. I could not figure out what came next, so I lay in the middle of the road and I prayed all out of order. Would she still help me if I can’t remember it? Maybe I would get it right after some repetition. My thoughts interrupted every so often. Hail Mary . . . oh Mary, she is so beautiful. I am not sure how but I could see her face on the curb. She looked like the statue I kept in my room back at home. I remembered the way her veil looked as though it was painted with watercolors. Stains of light green blended with gentle blue on a white background. How did she get here? Seattle was far away. My family. I focused my eyes. Mary was not here, I had just pictured her. I did not want Mary to leave so I kept her in my head while I tried to pray again. At the hour of our death, Amen.

One of the most unsettling things was trying to separate the noise in my head from the horrifying fact that the world around me was dead silent.

There were five of us. I had forgotten about the others. No one else moved since I had gotten myself out. My neck would not allow me to lift itself up to turn around and find out why it was so quiet. My head weighed a million pounds. I was worried it was never going to move from this spot. The little rocks were embedded in my forehead and cheek as if they made a home there. I was sure they would refuse to leave. Would I mind if they stayed? It had not started to hurt yet. My body did not seem to be worried about the rocks.

My teeth.

I wondered what time it was, it felt as though hours passed me by. I was to rot, here, in slow motion while everything else in the world would go on how it always had before.

My family.

No, this was not a dream.

Realistically it had been around twenty or thirty minutes. Realistically my friends could all be dead in that car. I could have joined them. Why had I not yet? I had not felt as though I was dying.

Adrenaline gently tapped my shoulder. Oh yes, one friend is still here.

I do not remember if it was my own thought. Someone needs to call 911. Something shifted inside the car behind me. I do not remember who said that sentence. I do not remember if it was a male or female. I do remember I heard it clearly.

My teeth.

I tried to hush my thoughts and prayers to test if I could hear anything else. The air was still. I heard my heartbeat in my ears. Whatever shifted stopped. Maybe I was the only one left.

Adrenaline had my hair, it fell in front of my eyes as she picked my head up from the ground. She is naive, my body will not do what she is asking it to do. Does she not see what state I am in? It took what seemed like an eternity, but she then held me up with her arms. They looked like my arms, but I could not tell if they felt like mine; they were numb. She wore the same sweatshirt. I knew I would never underestimate Adrenaline again. She was kind to me. Her fingers dug into the road but mine felt as though she put them in bubble wrap. My right shoulder kept popping in and out. It was a distant feeling, a distant sound. Maybe a massage would help later. Her hands found the edge of the car, I watched as she felt around for my phone below my seat. The front passenger seat. As she grabbed my phone, she tilted my head up.

Miles. I met him that night. He had his arms wrapped around my headrest, his face peeked out. Blood was streaming down, glistening as it marked its territory on the black leather. Miles looked straight ahead, his eyes stuck wide open. He did not blink. He did not move. He did not look as though he was breathing. If I could have felt my own lungs, I believe my breath would have been hitched. If I could have cried, I know for certain I would have never stopped. If I could have spoken I would have cried his name to ask if he could hear me.

Adrenaline whispered that she had to leave soon. My body did not obey me anymore. She gently removed me from the edge of the car, and laid me down on my left side. My shoulder made a sound as she let go. I was faced away from the curb this time, curled in a ball. I started to feel a deep ache in my tailbone. Maybe it was just sore.

Don’t leave me, I don’t know how to use my phone with these fingers. They don’t listen. I like your fingers better.

Her fingers were dirty and bruised a deep black. They were crooked but they listened to her commands. Her fingers did not look like mine. My mom always told me I had feminine fingers. My mom. My beautiful nails and long straight fingers did not bend the way hers did. I questioned what had happened to Adrenaline?

She knew my passcode, and I wondered if she typed it because she knew it would not recognize my Face ID. Was my face truly that warped?

My teeth.

Her hand looked as though it was getting heavy, it started to tremble as it pressed 9. Was she crying over my phone? Tears had begun to blur the screen. No, not tears, rain. She pressed 1. Again. The rain made it more difficult for the phone to read which button she pushed. She pressed the call button twice. Swiping at a water droplet to hit the speaker icon. The noise of the ringing penetrated my thoughts. I was suddenly aware the music had gone away. Music I had not registered until its absence. It was the song that was playing before we crashed. Upbeat and quick. An eerie soundtrack to a haunted house. A circus tune playing for a flesh eating clown. Its beat played on loop in my head. Yet, I only noticed it once it stopped.

Then everything happened at once. My shell of distraction and denial shattered around myself. I felt everything in one obnoxious wave. It was a wave goodbye. Adrenaline had chosen this moment of all others to take her leave. I have not seen her since.

“911 how can I help you?”

Pain. It’s everywhere. Where is it coming from? I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? I can’t move anything. The rain. It’s so cold. I can’t stop shaking.

“Help . . . please help us.” It sounded like my voice, but it was weak and came out in a croak. Stop shivering. Was the reason I shivered due to the pain or the temperature?

Panic.

Every time I shook, I could feel how it rattled each bone. Something was not right. Why did I feel unattached?

The woman responded to me but . . .

Are those headlights? Is someone coming to help us? Please don’t drive past! A car approached, coming to a stop about thirty feet away from me. Stop shivering. I wanted to scream. I wanted to sob. I wanted my family. I’m not okay.

“Please help, pl—”, My voice stopped working. Every word felt as though my insides were being broken apart as effortlessly as a child could snap a crayon. One by one. Wait. I knew one of those kids coming out of the car next to me. He played basketball. He had a butterfly tattoo. I knew him, he would help me.

Did the woman on the phone just ask for the address? Can’t they track me? I don’t know what street this is. I don’t know how to speak anymore.

The boy that ran over bent down next to me. Stop shivering. I think he took my phone and finished the call for me. I hoped he knew what street we were on.

His friends approached me. My eyesight was limited to their shoes now that they were closer. Even when they would squat down to look at me I could not make out who it was. The rain came down all around us. I felt like heaven was crying. Heaven would cry right? If the angels rejoiced each time a sinner repented, wouldn’t they cry if one of us was dying? Am I dying? Why can’t I cry? I’m not sure there is a cry powerful enough that could do justice to what I’m feeling right now.

The pain.

I’m being ripped apart with every breath.

Raindrops gently kissed the right side of my face, I closed my eyes and tried to stop the shivering. It sounded as if more voices joined the boy with the butterfly tattoo. Miles? My eyes tried opening to check. Stop shivering. I saw the road, it was so close my eyelashes were sweeping the dirt. I could hear Miles on the phone. His voice came from the curb on the other side of the street. He was alive. He was not stuck in the car. He was alive. Stop shivering.

The boy was trying to speak to me. No, it was not the same boy. He said Gabbie is alive too. She had been in the seat behind the driver, two seats away from Miles. He said she is now sitting next to Miles on the curb. Stop shivering. I closed my eyes in relief. I could not speak to tell him I was so glad they were alive. I think he asked me if I knew my name. What a ridiculous question, of course I know my name. Stop shivering. I just can’t tell you. I can’t move. It’s Avery.

Close up photo of white tendrils
Angel by Josep Salvia I Botek. CC license.

Avery Roche
Avery writes: “Last spring, a life threatening car crash led me down a path lined with recovery and reflection, experiences I’ve since woven into the fabric of my latest book. It’s a narrative born from a season spent piecing myself back together, a journey both physical and emotional. My hope is that my testimony can light the way for others facing their own pain, offering solace and understanding.” This essay is the opening chapter of a soon to be published memoir.

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