Dia De Los Muertos

Dia De Los Muertos

I have this theory that divine intervention plays a role in my life. Like any good Catholic, I turn to the heavens to explain the unexplainable. My theory is that when I encounter the bizarre incidents and motley cast of characters who have wandered into my life, it's merely adding weight to the notion that God doth have a sense of humor.

I explained it to my friend Drew like this:
"You know a lot of shit happens to me?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Basically I think its God saying 'Hey Shane, look at this..."

Now, anytime I tell Drew I have a story, he invariably responds "Hey Shane, look at this."

Nothing I have ever experienced backs this theory up more than a story about the death of a woman named Bernice.

We had just returned home from our family vacation the day before. The stress of a four hour drive and all the requisite packing and unpacking subsided and gave way to a sense of Fuuuuuck, I don't want to go back to work.

I stood glumly at our front window and looked out at the neighborhood. Despite seeing me do this somewhere near a hundred times, my wife inquired as to my actions and added an insult for good measure without giving me a chance to respond.

"What are you doing? Get away from the door you damn weird-o."

I responded something mindless and let out a sigh; I was just about to turn away when I noticed an older model white Buick weaving down the street. I watched as the car went up over the curb across the street from our house and then through the adjoining yard. The car passed between a fence and tree and smashed into a car parked in the driveway. The path seemed deliberate and I could hear the engine racing as if the driver intended to inflict more damage.

The news had recently been peppered with stories of entire neighborhoods being turned into crime scenes as a result of some asshole with a gun and a grudge. My initial response, based on a bevy of shit that happens to me, is to assume the worst and work backwards from there. I yelled at my wife.

"GET THE BABY AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!"
"Wha? Why?"
"GETAWAYFROMTHEGODDAMNWINDOW," I bellowed

I peeked out the window and my fears gave way to a sheepish embarrassment. I watched as two little old ladies in church hats exited the passenger side of the vehicle and walked to the driver’s door.

Emboldened with the courage that comes with knowing your nemesis is not only unarmed but an 80 year old woman, I bounded out the front door and across the street, red cape flowing in the wind.

"Is everyone OK, here?" In my head, my voice sounds a lot like David Putty, Elaine's alpha-male boyfriend on Seinfeld.


"We OK but somethin wrong with Bernice." I leaned in and quickly concurred. While she suffered no injuries from the collision, something was wrong with Bernice. Her eyes were fixed and her mouth opened and closed slowly, like a fish that had long stopped flopping on the deck and now awaited the inevitable.

I maintained a serious if not cool demeanor and did not betray the panic in my mind as it provided a running commentary alongside the action

I touched her wrist and the pulse felt weak and fluttery.

"She OK?"
"I don't know."

This is bad, this is really fucking bad


"I'm going to call 911"

HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK! HOY FUCK!

"911 please hold"

"mmm-mmm-mm" I calmly muttered

WHAT THE FUCK!? 9-11 shouldn’t have “hold” as an option, goddamnit

The operator came on the line and I excitedly brought her up to speed. She asked a couple of standard questions and after answering them, assured me that an ambulance was on the way and hung up.


I have stood in front of countless electronic items and assorted video games systems that have malfunctioned. I fiddled with them half-heartedly, knowing in my heart of hearts that I possessed neither the skill nor patience to fix the problem at hand. The extent of my abilities was limited to bizarre tricks that were known to everyone but held no proven value. Everyone knew to do these things and did them out of habit more than any actual success. That training would not help me here; I stood back with folded arms and assessed the situation. It wasn't like I could open the woman's mouth, blow two or three times to get the dust out, smack the side of her head a few times, and hit the reset button. I was way out of my league. I had no other ideas so I reached up and touched her neck, hoping to feel a stronger pulse and assuage our collective fears

Just as I did this, Bernice let out a long, raspy rattle
and died.

MO-THER-FUCK-ER


Now obviously I am not the grim reaper. I didn't just touch this woman and effectively push her to the other side. My timing and my ineptitude were the sole reason this played out as it did. At the time though, I was touching this woman as she died and that was the only thought in my mind. My cool exterior evaporated and the primal instincts of my mind overtook me.

"Motherfucker. Motherfucker. Motherfucker," I hissed in a low whisper.


The EMT's responded quickly and after assessing Bernice, put her in the ambulance and drove slowly away, sans lights and sirens.
The gathering crowd lingered and discussed. In the flurry of activity and considering my failure perceived or otherwise, I was desperate to help.

I approached my neighbor whose vehicle had been struck and tried, in vain, to help

"You know, I don't want to seem insensitive..."

This is never a good way to start a sentence. It basically says,
I know what I'm about to say is going to make me sound like an asshole and I just wanted to warn you beforehand

If you hear yourself saying this. Just stop. You are going to sound insensitive, no matter how magnanimous your intentions might be. Ignoring this, I plunged headlong into painting myself into a low grade ambulance chaser.
"Uh, I'm an insurance adjuster and Bernice's insurance actually owes for the damages to your car and a rental," I added for good measure.

My neighbor looked at me for a long time, First, probably trying to discern if I was serious then, realizing I was serious, trying to ascertain how long before he could leave the conversation and quite possibly, the neighborhood, so as to avoid ever having any interaction with the insensitive prick who lives across the street. He muttered a vague and disinterested "Thanks, and walked away. I have seen this guy several times since and quickly look away like a dog that knows he has done something wrong.

Now, bound and determined to do something right, I spied the two passengers. They stood quietly talking to the police officer. I approached them. "I can take these ladies home if they need it." The ladies accepted and they, along with the officer, were effusive with their praise

Yeah, well, I touched your friend and she fucking died and then I tried to get my neighbor to scavenge the dead woman's insurance so you might want to hold off on contacting the folks at Nobel

"Glad to help."

We talked on the ride home. The ladies wished their friend a quick recovery and I, knowing that ship had sailed, tried to steer in another direction

"Did Bernice say anything or indicate she didn't feel well?"

"NAW, We was juss talkin and all of a sudden she is goin up into the ya-ad and I says where you go-en?"

I imagined a healthy Bernice responding "Oh I'm just going to go through this yard. It’s quicker."
I managed to stifle a laugh which was the absolute least I could do

I dropped the ladies at the assisted living complex they shared with Bernice and wished them well. They thanked me and I drove away. I called my wife and updated her and immediately picked up the phone to call Drew and was relieved when he answered.

"Hey, What's up?"
"Dude. I have a story."
"Hey Shane, look at this"
"You have no fucking idea."