When To Make The Call

The first time I called 911 I could barely speak.

I'd been with my dad, driving home after a weekend at his house, when the cars in front of us on the six-lane highway collided and went up in flames. Truth be told, I only remember pockets of what happened, but my body still tenses when I think about it.

Cars screeched to the side, people sprinted past, and the sounds of metal scraping metal filled my ears while plumes of smoke billowed through the air. My dad thrust his Blackberry into my hands and said "call 911!" as he jumped from the driver's seat. I watched as he hastily ripped open the back door to grab his EMS bag. Seconds later, he was gone.

There were no sirens as he'd entered the fray, just a lot of yelling. I'd never called 911 before and my hands shook violently while holding the phone. I couldn't make them stop. My chest tightened and my voice wouldn't work.

"Hello??!" the operator asked with more intensity.

This is what I thought of as I dialed 911 yesterday. Again, on a Sunday, some twenty three years later, I was driving on a northbound New England highway. This time, however, I was driving a uhual through in an unsuspecting snowstorm. Up ahead, a car was lying on its side, axels facing oncoming traffic with an apron of debris sprawled before it. Hands on the wheel and pumping the brakes, I watched the frame of the car to see if a door would bang open. None did.

A few cars had pulled over, their hazards flashing while the first people on-scene approached the vehicle. I listened but couldn't hear sirens. Plenty of cars drove by—I knew they would. In college, a friend and I had come upon a smoking car on the side of the highway in the distance. As we approached, we followed a line of cars that slowed and drove past. None stopped. It'd taken a full out sprint to convince the occupants to leave it. I'd begged them to. They began following me away from the smoke just as the car blew up. Still, no one stopped and no sirens came... until I called.

Yesterday, my hands didn't shake when I called 911. My voice was clear and measured. I couldn't help but notice that even while gripping the wheel to keep from sliding through the snow, my breath remained steady. Do something enough, and you figure out the ways to do it just a bit better than last time. Sure, there were a lot of cars ahead of mine, with a few people actively stopping to help. But, I didn't assume any of them had called 911.

And I'd rather they get one more call from me instead of no calls from anyone.