Soul Survivor
Sam Aurelius Milam III
From
November of 1972 until April of 1982, I worked as a nuclear engineer at
the General Electric Company, in San Jose, California. I made the
daily commute on the infamous Highway 101. By the way, that's a zero,
not an oh. It isn't Highway One-Oh-One. It's Highway One-Zero-One.
I usually made the daily commute in my 1961 Plymouth station wagon or my
1961 Volkswagen sedan. Sometimes, I made the trip on my motorcycle,
a Honda 175. I don't remember its year of manufacture.
One
afternoon, I was headed home in the northbound fast lane of Highway 101,
on the motorcycle. There was a location on that stretch of the highway
where Interstate 280/680 went over the highway. The interstate, at
that location, was maybe about five lanes wide, in each direction.
I don't remember exactly, but going under it was more like going through
a tunnel than like going under a bridge. At that time, there was
some construction being done, so the effective size of the central strip
of the Highway 101 median, under the interstate, was reduced by some large
concrete barriers. The amount of space remaining for the left shoulder,
between the concrete barriers and the fast lane was, as I recall, a strip
of asphalt that was only about 6 feet wide.
As
I was approaching the bridge, I heard my motorcycle make a little popping
noise. Poppa taught us to always pay attention to the noises that
our vehicles make, so, when I heard the noise, I immediately decided to
shift lanes to the right, get off of the highway, and figure out what was
making the noise. However, before I even had time to check my mirrors
for the lane change, it was too late.
What
I heard was pop-pop-pop-wham, in just a little more time than it takes
to read it. I heard the noise, the pop-pop-pop, and my decision to
change lanes happened at about the time of the third pop. At wham,
the rear wheel of my motorcycle stopped turning. It instantly locked
tight. Before the wham, I'd been whizzing along in the fast lane.
After the wham, I was fishtailing.
At
that moment in my life, there's a complete discontinuity in my memory.
Before pop-pop-pop-wham, I was driving in the northbound fast lane.
At wham, my memory absolutely stops and starts again, different.
After the discontinuity, I have two completely different and distinct memories
of events. I don't know how to explain a double memory, but that's
what it is. Both memories are mine, both memories are of the same
event, simultaneously, but each memory is from a different perspective.
There isn't any connection between my memory before the discontinuity and
my memories after the discontinuity. There isn't any connection between
the two simultaneous memories except that they're both mine.
After
the discontinuity, I remember trying to keep my motorcycle upright, while
trying to see what was happening behind me. Remember, I was in the
northbound fast lane of the notorious Highway 101, during the afternoon
commute, on a motorcycle. I needed to know what was happening behind
me. All that I could see in my mirrors was pavement sky pavement
sky pavement sky. My other memory is of watching from about ten feet
back and about 15 feet above, while a man on a fishtailing motorcycle tried
to control his machine. In that other memory, I didn't know who the
man was. I just watched him dispassionately as he struggled with
his motorcycle. Nowadays, when I hear somebody talk about watching
himself from above, during surgery, or some other such thing, I believe
him.
The
duration of those two memories is indeterminate. Time didn't seem
to be involved. At the end of that unmeasured moment, there's another
complete discontinuity. Both parallel memories simply end, without
any connection to what happened either before them or after them.
My
memory subsequent to the second discontinuity begins with me sitting on
my motorcycle, stalled, in the northbound fast lane. I looked over
my right shoulder. There was a pickup truck stopped behind me.
The driver was looking at me as if I was the most stupid person in the
entire world. As unlikely as it seems, all of the traffic behind
me stopped in the time that it took for me to skid to a stop with the rear
wheel locked. There weren't any injuries or dented fenders.
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