Nocturne

2 Brooks Bridge Numbers “03 01,” in black ink are written on a dark yellow background, off in the top right corner of a Florida license plate. Directly above the mostly white rectangle with an orange in its center, a red light ignites immediately before the vehicle approaches Brooks Bridge. A stoplight turns red; the car stops. A newlywed couple is coming back from a concert. The event featured a symphony, held at the Civic Center in Pensacola. They are heading to their time-share by the beach in Destin. Nocturne can be a painting capturing night or a musical composition to express its mood. At this moment it’s a song, triggering emotions. Serena happily sings along at the wheel. She lip-synchs, pretending to be its leading soprano. Bryan, amused, glances at her. She looks at him and laughs a bit then continues singing. Smiling he notices the stoplight is still red. His hand reaches and presses a button with window down symbols; nothing happens. With his arm stretching across the panel, Bryan handles its volume control and decreases it. Serena glances at him. “What’s the matter?” Serena asks Bryan. “The window is locked.” “Is the AC too cold?” Serena asks happily. “I just want to feel the warm evening air.” “But it’s still so humid.” Serena protests. Bryan leans over and kisses her cheek. Serena returns his kiss with one on his lips as he readjusts himself back into his seat. Eyes slightly closed he feels her mouth against his; soft, warm, and moist. With his eyes fully open now, he finds, the stoplight is now green. She automatically descents the window, simultaneously, returning the volume back to its previous level, while mashing the accelerator. The SUV enters Brooks Bridge. On the opposite side of the bridge a commercial rental truck enters up its curved slope. The driver Lance Peters, a recent University of Florida graduate, had just dropped his items off in a new apartment on Okaloosa Island. It has been a long day of loading and unloading, which included driving five hours from Gainesville. Lance is exhausted. He moved four years worth of “stuff” by himself. Friends, who were supposed to assist him, never showed, as usual. The former varsity Gator cheerleader realizes himself falling asleep at the wheel, so he takes another gulp from his caffeine rich cola. It’s his final swig. Air conditioner on maximum and radio blasting, cannot suppress his somnolent state. “Come on big guy. Pep up to stay up. Don’t punk out on me. I’ve already gassed her up. All I have to do is drop her off, pick up my car and then, I’ll be back at the house and straight to bed…couch…whatever.” Lance speaks to himself. The angel flashes back, he thinks, It all happens so fast. Serena is swaying to the music. I smell her scent. The peach body lotion she uses from that bath shop. The new car smell of my SUV lingers around me. I feel the warm air that immediately fills it, when she lets the window down. I can see the green sign, “Brooks Bridge,” as we reached the top of its arc. Lance’s eyelids grow heavy as his truck accelerates to the top of the bridge. He catches himself falling asleep at the wheel again. His eyelids shoot open and he involuntarily jerks. Now adrenaline gushes into his jumping heart, he overcompensates for his awkward but slight turn and steers the rental into the concrete medium. The rental truck rams into the driver side of the SUV. Momentum causes, the SUV to roll over through the rail, off the bridge, slamming into the river below. Seconds later, the truck’s payload, swerving, pulls its front end over the bridge. A short distance above the submerging SUV, the truck falls twisting to impact with it once more. The angel’s thoughts are still reminiscing on that moment, I hear terrible sounds. Thunder claps as our surface moves beneath us. I see a vertex of my wife whirling as a helix. I feel cold icy whips, lashing against my skin. Black water surrounds me. I see random glares of light frolic about this gruesome darkness. I struggle to free myself from my seatbelt. I can not. I wave my arms about, feeling for my wife, to touch her, to help her. I can not. I seek to breathe. I can not. And for an instant I see a gleaming angelic face.