“Quick, take the exit! Go from 94,” Sarah blurted out from the passenger seat.

“What? Why? We’re already on 35, that’ll only take longer,” I respond as I continue straight ahead. “Trust me Sarah, I’ve been living here forever. 35 is much shorter.” She doesn’t respond other than turning her head to look out the window. It’s the first of August and the humidity is a killer. The trees stand perfectly still underneath the heat. The sun peaks in between the clouds. It felt like the calm before a storm and her expression mimics the sky’s. Sarah had seemed upset for the last few days, but I can’t tell why. Maybe she just missed the east.

I drive for about a mile before braking, “What? Construction on the bridge?”
“Told you to take the 94.”
“We’ll still make it,” I insist while glancing at the clock that reads six o’two pm. She was

right and I feel guilty and kind of like an idiot. We have no choice but to wait through traffic.
I read the clock, six o’three. Being held back in traffic gets me thinking too much. I merge into the right lane. How am I going to pay next month’s rent? We’re approaching the bridge. What if I don’t get the job? I start tapping my hand. What if she leaves me? The clock

flashes, six o’four. The nervousness caught up with me, as my leg begins to shudder.
“Sean, you’re doing it again.” Sarah speaks softly. I stop. “It’s gonna be fine Sean.” “It’s just … the rent, the job, I …”
“You’ll get the job, Sean, I know you will.”
“It’s not just that, everything’s just happening all of a sudden. It was like just yesterday

I was finishing college. Then I meet you, and I’m living in my own apartment, and now I’m getting a real job.”

“Yea,” she answers in a whisper.
“It’s so exciting, but I just wish it could all slow down a bit. You know?”
We’re half way on the bridge.
Six o’five.
“You’re right, Sean. Things are going kind of fast. And I’ve been thinking. Maybe,” she

pauses as my leg begins to shudder again. “Maybe it’d be best if I moved back in with my family for a while.”

“No.” One short, quick, little word is all I say as time freezes. I hear a bang. A car slams us. Brake lights flash. The foundation gives. The dominoes fall. We collapse. The cars moving, but my foot’s on the brake. There’s a splash.

All I see is the dust. The car’s against the fence. Everything is a blur and all I can hear is that one word ringing in my head, “no”.

The windshield has cracked and the water begins to leak into the car. My leg is still frozen on the break but the car still felt like it was moving. The cold air is invaded by the warmth of the water. Death pulls down on my legs and crawls up my body. I finally realize what’s happening. The bridge collapsed.

I unclick my seatbelt. Removing my foot from the break, I frantically look around. The back is crushed. I try rolling down the window. Idiot. Why did I think that would work? I’ll smash it open. I take deep breaths then elbow the window as hard as I can. Nothing. I try again. And again. And again. A small crack appears. It’s working. One more time Sean. Just once more. The glass shatters as more water rushes in through the window dousing my body.

I need to climb out but the water is so violent. It’s like swimming against the tides of an ocean. I need to pull myself through. Both hands on the frame of the window, I squeeze through the small opening.

I climb out of the water up the slant of the road. I welcome the light, the air, the wind on my skin, but not the sound of sirens. While I was in the water others sat beneath rubble. People trapped in cars, others calling for help. I wasn’t the only one.

I wasn’t … the only one … the only one in the car. I look behind me. She’s not there. “Sarah,” I whisper to myself, and then yell, “Sarah. Sarah!”

I go back to the car and to the window on the right. I peer through the glass. She appears unconscious, but the water’s only to her chest. I bang on the glass, hoping for something, anything. A movement. A reaction. I go over to the windshield and ram myself into it. There’s more water than there was before. I try kicking with my legs. The water’s to her chin. I smash again. She isn’t moving. Another time. Water’s covering her mouth. Again. Her hair’s floating on the surface. Again. It’s up to her nose. Again. It breaks and I fall through.

I take a breath of the little air there is in here. I unclick the seat belt. It’s tangled with her arm. Pull it out. Get out. Her arm’s finally loose. The car is nearly submerged and I take my last breath before pulling her through the windshield. The car begins to roll down the slant of road and down into the river. Her leg, it’s stuck against the crushed edge of the car. All I can do is pull until we’re both out of the car. I hold her as I swim up. The surface, it’s so close,

but I can’t hold my breath. Keep swimming. My legs can barely keep moving. I feel myself stop. Am I falling? I need to push through. The surface breaks.

I take an enormous breath of air. She doesn’t.

I put Sarah’s arm over me and swim back towards the side we had come from. By the time we get to the river bank the current pushes us nearly underneath the second bridge. There were rocks and some small trees by the river bank. I place Sarah down where the river meets, while I climb out from the water. I grab her from underneath her arms and drag her out from the river and onto the rocks.

She’s cold. Her skin is pale. I tilt back her head. My hands are trembling. This is just how I learned in high school. The breaths. I pinch her nose with my fingers I place my mouth over hers and give two breaths. How many compressions? Was it thirty? No, one hundred? I just have to start. I put my hands on top of her chest. One hundred per minute. I take a deep breath. I start to push down rhythmically on her chest. Is that deep enough? I have to push harder. I give her two more breaths. “Don’t you die on me Sarah,” I whisper. I start compressions again. Nothing’s happening. “Stay with me, Sarah.” My eyes water. My vision blurs. “Don’t you die on me. Don’t you die on me, Sarah!” I keep pushing harder and harder. Faster and faster. I give two more breaths. The sirens fade. “Stay with me.” The cars are silent. “You can’t die yet. You can’t leave me now, Sarah.”

She chokes. I turn her head to the side and a little water comes out. She begins coughing hard until her throat is clear and starts breathing heavily. Her eyes open and I see the small hazel light shine with them. I pull her up to a sitting position. All I can think to do is hold her in my arms yet she doesn’t speak a word.

I didn’t notice the cut on my arm or the blood coming from my forehead until now. There’s a cut on Sarah’s face and her leg’s bleeding. She’s shivering and today I had no jacket to keep her warm. “We have to find help,” I speak, “There’s bound to be an ambulance closer to the bridge. Let me help you up.”

“I can’t feel my leg.” I figure it’s from her leg getting squeezed in the car.

“Just try leaning on me.” We don’t take three steps before she trips. I catch her from falling and I use whatever is left of my strength to pick her up. I walk up a tiny slope until we reach a small road that follows the side of the river. There’s some squad cars and an ambulance just down the road. I start towards their direction. Sarah is shivering intensely in my arms. I keep moving until an officer tries to stop and talk to me. “Get her some help,” I say

as I walk passed him and continue toward the ambulance. “I need help! Get her a blanket or something!”

A paramedic approaches me and helps me place her on the back of the ambulance while I begin to explain to her what had happened. She immediately places some blankets around Sarah and then gives another to me. She takes a look at our injuries and does anything she can to help.

A police officer swings by to ask some questions. Sarah didn’t speak much after I pulled her out of the water other than nodding occasionally or giving a short, silent reply. Neither did she ask me a single question about what had happened. From what we’ve been told it seems that Sarah and I are among a few of the first people to come out from the wreckage.

From where I’m sitting I see smoke, cars piled next to each other, large fragments of road, a school bus on its side. The wind has slowed down, but the humidity is distressing. How long has it been? I check my watch only to see that it reads six o’seven while the second hand ticks but doesn’t move. I remember my grandfather telling me to keep it out of the water. The paramedic tells me that it’s six eighteen and all I can remember is seeing the clock flash six o’five before the bridge fell.

I glance over at Sarah. Her once long brown hair has curled up like it would when she gets out of the shower. Her face is pale like it would be when I make her warm soup while she’s sick in bed. She carries an expressionless face. A face that almost reminds me of the one I see when she’s lost in a good book. The faces look so similar but they’re still so different in a way that I can’t quite understand. The one I see now has that same lost look in her eyes. Maybe a midwest life wasn’t meant for someone like her. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Whether I make next week’s rent. If I get the job or not. It doesn’t matter. I’d move to the east with her if that’s what it meant to keep her around, because right now I just know that she’s alive. I know she’s still here.