James' Ear

by E. Stephen Mack

James was driving through Gateshead when he began to hear a high-pitched tone in his left ear. It started quietly but soon became uncomfortably loud, like commercials that are much more shrill than the TV show they sponsor.

James turned off the radio, and stuck his pinkie in his ear. He wished he had a Q-tip. But rubbing his ear made no difference; the noise continued unabated.

To the side of the road, a Caltrans crew was preparing to install a new sign over the freeway: Lowood 20, Thornfield, 37, Ferndean 95.

The tone grew louder; it drowned out the noise made by James' Camry. He shrugged and tried to ignore it. It will stop soon on its own, he thought, this is an ordinary event and I shall not panic.

He passed by Fairfax Avenue and was going to drive all the way home to Currer Street, but he noticed that his neck felt wet. He touched it, and -- careful to keep his eyes on the car in front of him (a little too close in fact) -- put his hand in front of his face. His fingertips were red. He pulled down the visor and opened the vanity mirror. His ear was bleeding.

"Shit," he said aloud. He could not hear his own voice: the high pitch had become more like a roar, a buzzing. It hurt.

He panicked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blue roadsign with a big "H." It said, "St. John's Hospital, take Rochester Exit." He was in the left lane, the speed lane. Rochester was less than a quarter-mile away. Frantic, he swerved across three lanes and was instantly struck on the passenger side by a white PG&E van that had been in his blind spot. James' Camry flipped over, bounced back by the force of the collision. It rolled 360 degrees while the front of the PG&E van compressed, its driver's head smashing through the windshield. James' seatbelt cut deeply into his neck and his eyelids fluttered. His car was struck a second time by a brown Ford whose driver was unable to veer away in time. The Ford exploded in a cherry gush. James vomited and his bowels emptied. Drivers in both directions pumped on their brakes. Those on the other side of the divider slowed down to look at the destruction, then drove on slowly, their heads craned back to take in the whole scene.

In the distance came the first wails of ambulance sirens.

James was still conscious. Hearing the sirens, he realized that the tone in his ear had stopped.





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Written February, 1995. Copyright 1995 by E. Stephen Mack. Please do not distribute in any form.

E. Stephen Mack -- estephen@emf.net
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