The Big Bang

It had rained just enough the evening before to fog my school bus’ windshield with a thin, reflective sheen of dust, and when the sun hit it just right visibility was greatly reduced. For this reason I had the engine compartment open and I was precariously balanced atop one of my bus’ front tires trying to clean the broad plates of glass.

From behind me came an explosive sound of crushing metal, it immediately drew my attention away, and out toward the street. I first saw a transit bus come to a metal screeching, rubber flapping stop, I thought it had blown a tire, but then I looked beyond the bus and across from it was a small pick-up truck with flames flashing out from under its crumpled hood. I jumped down from the tire, grabbed the fire extinguisher from inside my bus and ran to the bus yard office.

“There ain’t no fire,” said a fellow bus driver who had heard the crash.

“The HELL there isn’t,” I retorted.

I swung open the rear door of the bus yard lounge and bolted around the tables and chairs, and passed my supervisor who was yelling, “WHERE’S THE FIRE EXTINGUISHERS?” I ran past her without saying a word and out the front door I flew. As I approached the pick-up truck I surveyed the heap of mangled metal for fuel leaks and fire.

The lady driving the pick-up was standing near a tree leaning over and bleeding from a nasty gash on her forehead. Moments later my supervisor came by and attended to the lady’s immediate needs.

When I looked in the blood splattered cab I saw between the dash and the floorboard a flaming nest of fire. I pointed the nozzle toward it, squeezed the extinguisher’s trigger, and the fire promptly surrendered. Two more fires were blazing under the pick-up’s hood and twice more I jerked the trigger.

The woman had had enough muddled cognizance to get out of her vehicle fast! I suspect the ball of fire that I saw leap from the engine, and the fact that flames were licking at her legs aided in her nimble response. The transit bus’ impact gave her little room to maneuver, but obviously under the circumstances it was enough!

The head rest of the driver’s seat had smashed through the rear window, and the steering wheel had to have been at chin level. Between the pick-up truck’s cab and front left tire—which, incidentally had been sheared off and was lying a good 50 feet aft—was an impressive dent that caused a rift in the pick-up’s interior. The impact was such that the floorboard was rent from the firewall just below the accelerator. The six inch gap (at its widest point) ran nearly the full width of the vehicle.

I asked a witness what had happened and he said that the transit bus was in the middle turn lane traveling way too fast and that it veered into the pick-up truck. The bus had sustained a dent to its front bumper and its windshield had several lateral and diagonal cracks running its length.

My supervisor asked me if I had any clean tissues and I said no as I patted my pockets just in case. But then feeling a lump in my rear pants pocket I pulled out a wad of paper towels I had intended to use on the windshield and handed them to her.

“Ah! Here, use these!” My supervisor promptly had the woman sit down and compressed the clump of paper to her bleeding forehead.

Once I felt that the area was secured and the danger of fire had been minimized, I stepped off the curb and turned back to the bus yard; but before I could take another step the sound of a fire truck rumbling down the road with its sirens wailing gave me cause to pause. They pulled up within 10 feet of the smashed pick-up, and out rolled three burly, well insulated, helmeted firemen. As they lumbered toward the wreck they wore on their faces expressions of astonishment. It was truly miraculous that the lady was not killed and, most fortunate, for all parties concerned; that the gas tank had not ruptured.

As I passed the firemen I quipped, “Sorry boys, I already put out the fire.”

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