Headlights

Something almost happened today, but didn't.

No. That's not right.

It was thought something was happening today, but it wasn't. Much to everyone's relief.

While we thought it might be happening, I couldn't think properly. I would start to do something, and then forget what it was. It wasn't that I felt panic. I was quite calm. But there was a dull hum that was distracting me, making me forget.

It wasn't a crisis. Which is a good thing for many reasons, not least because it seems I wouldn't have been much good if it had been.

I remember many years ago, I was in a bus when it hit another car. What I remember most clearly was the silence immediately afterwards, and then a child of about nine got out of the front seat of the car, and began to wail in a thin voice. He was holding his hand out in front of him. Then he went down on his knees in the road.

I know they took our names, in case they needed witnesses. But after that all I remember was arriving at the farm for work, and putting on my gloves and noticing my fingers were shaking.

The person I was with on the bus said later, many years later: you went very quiet.

I didn't know what she meant. I had forgotten there was anyone with me until she brought it up recently, while were were talking about something else. I have no memory of her there, although I realise now she was the one who spoke to the driver first, the one who asked the other passengers how they were.

In my memory, I was on my own.

You went very quiet.

So that's what I do when something happens. Or almost happens. Or might have happened.

Like those rabbits that freeze in the oncoming headlights.

Today, nothing happened. But if it had, I know there were others who would have led the way, surefooted, to safer ground. Ordinary people, whose strengths are not visible in ordinary light. And I would have followed gladly.