The Accident

There were nine of us piled into Sister Atkins’s blue and white Ford Falcon. She turned the radio to a top-forty station and we all sang our hearts out during the forty-five minute ride to the swimming hole. The Atkins family frequently used the rural acreage in South Mobile County, Alabama for family gatherings.
When we arrived, I decided to sit on the bank and watch my brothers and the other boys play. Finally, I worked up my courage and took my first dive off the bank. The creek water was bone-chilling cold for mid-August; however, it was refreshing and it was so much fun that I decided to dive in again. Sister Atkins’ cousin Pat was a good diver but I thought to myself, I’m better than he is. I can show him up. Preparing to make my third dive, I jumped as high as I could and entered the water vertically.
“Where’s Michael?” my brother Samuel asked. He and Daniel and Jeremiah and I were supposed to keep an eye out for one another and be careful like Daddy said to.
“He was on the ledge a second ago,” answered QT, Sister Atkins’ eldest boy.
“No, he dove into the water right here. I saw him,” Jeremiah was standing near my point of entry.
“He should have come up for air by now.” Daniel was worried. Everyone started scanning the water looking for me.
What have I done? My neck hurt so badly! In my mind, I was going through the motions of swimming as I tried to bring myself to the surface, but my arms and legs were not moving. Oh no, I’m paralyzed! I am going to drown! I began praying with all the vigor I could muster. God, help me!
“Go on and give up! You’ll have a big funeral,” I heard an unfamiliar and devilish voice mocking me. How was a large funeral going to make me feel better about dying? In a vision, I saw myself walking down a street. There were masses of people surrounding a local funeral home. Making my way through the crowd, I entered a mortuary. There was a casket in the parlor. I walked up to it, and looked down. It was me! I was in the coffin! Then, I really panicked. I knew this was the end of my life, and I began to cry. I never realized anyone could cry underwater, but I did. I had held my breath as long as I could and I was going to die.
“I see him!” Daniel yelled, “but he ain’t moving!”
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Pat grabbed my hand, tugging me upward. As I emerged from the water gasping for air, I told Pat, “Please don’t move my neck. It hurts bad.” I was very heavy for a boy of thirteen, and the surface of the water was about four feet below the edge of the muddy creek bank. Getting me up and out of the water was proving to be an impossible.
“We need a rope or something to help pull him up,” Pat instructed. “See what you can find.”
There was some debris near a telephone pole the power company had recently repaired after a drunken kid had driven his truck into it. QT found an old electric cable wire, and ran back to the scene. Pat secured the cable wire around my chest. With some of the boys in the water pushing me up the bank, the others pulled from above and hoisted me up. The pain was unbearable. Sister Atkins was wringing her hands in worry. “SOMEBODY HURRY UP THE ROAD TO MY AUNT BESSIE’S HOUSE AND CALL MENNEATORY AND TOMMY LEE! Tell them to meet us at the Hospital in Toulminville!”
Samuel took off running. He was pretty fierce for a 10-year old kid, which happened to come in handy on his mission. A pack of vicious dogs came tearing after him from a dirt road as he approached the home of Sister Atkins’s Aunt. When Sam saw the dogs he quickly picked up a firm branch from the ground and proceeded to beat the dogs back. One of the relatives heard the commotion and came outside.
“GET BACK! Leave him alone!” A woman in a red plaid dress yelled.
The dogs abated and Sam ran to the porch where she was standing. “There’s been an accident at the pond,” he panted. “Sister Atkins sent me to use your phone.” Sam was nearly in tears from fright and panic but he held fast to his composure.
“An accident? Come on in, boy.” Bessie pointed across the room to an old rotary dial phone hanging on the wall.
Sam ran to the phone and started dialing home, his hands shaking and his heart beating wildly. “Momma?”
*****
Several of the older boys carried me to the car and had me lie flat on my back. The pain was relentless, but I couldn’t move my body to find a more comfortable position.
“The rest of you boys get to Aunt Bessie’s house and stay there while I take this boy to the hospital.” Sister Atkins was nervous but in control as she stomped the gas pedal to the floor and flew down the dusty lane that led to the main road. All I could think about was how I had screwed up everybody’s day and that I would miss all of the good picnic food.
*****
That hot, muggy Saturday in August, 1979 began normally enough. That morning I had awakened to my brothers’ exuberant chatter about a picnic they were preparing with my mother’s friend, Sister Atkins. I was a vibrant, energetic boy who wanted to be involved in as many activities as possible; especially sports. I wanted to experience everything life had to offer and I wanted to go with them. Like most teenage boys, I was eager to avoid housework, but I knew my parents would not let me go if I hadn’t finished my chores. I did an abbreviated job of cleaning my bedroom and approached my parents about going on the picnic.
“Have you cleaned your room?” My mother asked.
“Of course!” I replied.
I thought the trip was in the bag until my father said, “Boy, you need to stay home. There’s plenty for you to do here.” I didn’t want to hear that and instantly became long-faced. My father saw my disappointment and felt a little sorry for me, which was a rare thing for Daddy to do. “I guess it will be okay for you to go, but you all better be careful,” He warned. My brothers and I ran excitedly to Sister Atkins’s house. When we got there, her three boys, QT, Lorenzo, and Lyndon, had just finished breakfast and were about to pack the car, when there was a knock at the door. It was Nancy Smith, a girl who despised me for reasons I have yet to understand. Sister Atkins had invited Nancy to go on the picnic.
Nancy took two steps inside the house and stopped short when she saw me. “Is HE going?” she demanded with her hands on her hips.
“Yes, why?” Lorenzo asked.
“If he’s going, I’m NOT.” Nancy turned an about-face toward the door, but then she stopped and glared at me, “I can’t stand you Michael Davis; I hope you break your neck.” If she had only known how ominously predictive her words would be.