I saw a train wreck.

It was everything I thought it would be. The blowing of horns, the screeching of breaks, the twisting of steel, the breaking of glass, the quiet aftermath, all textbook.

A tractor-trailer hauling roof shingles had stalled on the crossing. I saw the train and I saw the truck. I looked at the train again and I looked at the truck. My head kept bouncing back and forth between the two until I stared straight ahead at a train wreck. I couldn't miss it.

I had driven up to Northern Virginia on the sly. One bad turn deserved another in my relationship account book and I took off after work, met my rainy day girl and was driving the 2 hours (or three full listens to Tom Petty's "Full Moon Fever") to make it just in time to punch the clock. I was sleep deprived and jacked up on Jolt cola and Mountain Dew. I jumped out of my skin due to the overload of caffeine and floated above. I was staring at the top of my head as well as hers now and I saw it all. I saw her and I saw me. I looked at me again and I looked at her and my head kept bouncing back and forth between the two until I stared straight ahead at a train wreck. The calling of names, the screeching of tears, the twisting of words, the breaking of promises, the quiet aftermath, all textbook.

I turned to the trucker standing beside me and asked tersely,"How do I get around this?" He told me. It was a lot of back tracking and back roads. I thought I would never get back to where I shouldn't have left in the first place. And when I did get there it wasn't the same. I saw a train wreck.