The Accident

Just before the Friday afternoon factory whistle blew on a perfect summer afternoon, Curtis Melanson drove his pick up truck with the wooden sides down the hill at breakneck speed and missed the corner where our blackberry patch met the road. Ruthie and I, playing jacks on the whitewashed side porch, watched in awe as the guard rail bent and crumpled and the truck catapulted over in a double somersault. We didn't see it land but the crash was deafening and it was followed immediately by a massive explosion that shook the ground and sent a mushroom cloud of black smoke and flames into the innocent air.

For a second or three, there was dead silence except for the burning wreck, then all hell broke loose. Factory workers poured out like ants, all running hell bent for leather for the beach. Nana pushed the porch door open with such force that it sprung its hinges.

“HOLY JESUS CHRIST!” she shouted, “GIRLS! INSIDE! RIGHT THIS SECOND!” And then she was flying down the front path without waiting to see if we'd obeyed. There was a second explosion and we watched in stunned silence as bits of fiery debris spit into the air. They popped like firecrackers and left little curlicues of smoke when they fell back to earth. The factory siren was screaming urgently by then and in the background my mother was trying to make herself heard to Elsie at the switchboard.

'I DON'T KNOW WHO IT WAS!” she was screeching desperately, “JUST SEND DOC!”

The ferry, halfway across the passage when the truck went over, had revved its old engines and was headed for the wreck, its airhorns blasting. To the distress of those aboard, Cap had cut the scow loose and a half dozen whale watching tourists and their vehicles were adrift, open mouthed and horrified. More than one, I realized sickly, was filming the mayhem on the beach, death being far more fascinating than a school of whales.

That night, Nana made Ruthie and I pancakes and strawberry shortcake for supper and let us sleep in her room. My mother drank a little more than usual. Locals came and went until well after dark when the fire was put out. The whale watchers were rescued, Curt's body was pulled from the truck and sent to Doc's and the following day, they hauled away the wreckage the tide left behind and Jayne's sent a hearse from the mainland. Uncle Len and a handful of fishermen tore down the mutilated guardrail and rebuilt it. Ruthie and I watched all this from the safety of the sunporch, feeling shell shocked and somehow violated. We couldn't bring ourselves to talk about what we'd witnessed, not even to each other, and my grandmother watched over us like a hawk, waiting I think, for some sign of emotional spillage. Even if she'd known how to begin the conversation, it wouldn't have come to much. Ten year old girls aren't meant to witness violent death and we had an unspoken agreement to keep our nightmares to ourselves so Nana just watched, waited, and worried. June was over and then July came and went and still Ruthie and I kept silent. We had tea in the playhouse, we collected shells and picked wildflowers along the cove road. We took the dogs for walks and played paper dolls with cut outs from the Spiegel catalogue. We went to the show on Saturday nights and Sunday school the next morning. We played dominoes and Parcheesi and even jacks, learned the newest Brenda Lee songs and reread The Waterbabies. Twice. We stayed away from the part of the beach in front of the house. We didn't talk about it, we just stayed away.

In August, the province declared Curt Melanson's death an accident, just a small mention in the mainland paper but it caught Nana's eye. It didn't stop the whispers right away - in a small village, there are always whispers - but it was now official and the suicide rumors quietly faded out. Life went on, as life always does, and in September as we were packing to leave, Ruthie and I finally gathered our courage and walked down the path, across the road and right up to the guardrail.

We stood and held hands, watching the incoming tide wash over the familiar rocky coast and wondering if we would ever play there again. Then we hugged and said goodbye.