Orange Crush

I have been pondering a lot lately on what the next steps might be for my life. This has caused me to reflect on some of the major milestones that have led me to where I am currently. The following is a retrospective look at a significant event that occurred during December 1988.

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As I sat in the front row looking out the window, waiting for the service to begin, I observed how the sun looked like a tremendous ball of flames gazing steadily over the dormant December earth. Somehow that scene reflected the essence of my recent experiences. I was still trying to acquire words to describe my conflicted feelings - utter relief and elation intertwined with intense despair and grief.

I fidgeted in my seat, trying to stay calm as the bile once again crawled up my throat. I swallowed hard, and pulled a newspaper article from my jacket. My friend Wally saw my action, and gave me a concerned look followed by a faint, yet compassionate smile.

Passenger rescued from flames, Van Dorn Street crash fatal for Lincoln man.

A drive in the country by four friends turned to tragedy Thursday night when the car in which two were riding went out of control on a gravel road southeast of Lincoln, killing one man and injuring another.

Matthew Porter, 20, was fatally injured when he was thrown from the car he was driving as it flipped end over end. Two friends following the car that crashed pulled the seat-belted passenger out as the car caught fire, authorities stated.

Porter, of 2700 S. 74th, died Friday morning of injuries he suffered in the accident. The passenger, Mark Bogen, 17, was treated for minor injuries and released from Lincoln General Hospital, authorities said.

The day of the accident was routine. I went into work at 2:30 after finishing up at school. When I showed up, Matt confirmed that tonight Trent, Wally and I were going over to his house. Thursdays were usually “men’s night out” since Matt’s girlfriend, Julie, had class that evening.

I got to Matt’s house a little later than the other 3, since it was my job to clean up the shop after work. I was working part-time at the Quick Lube on 27th during my senior year at Lincoln High School. I even received school credits under their “Work-study” program. At this stage in my life, I was beginning to expect nothing more than a long career as a grease monkey. I was certainly receiving quite an education from the guys who were now mentoring me. In addition to learning to work on cars, I was experimenting with various drugs and alcohol, smoking, and developing a rather short-term, pessimistic outlook on life.

I grabbed a beer from Matt's fridge, and we played pool while listening to his already burgeoning C.D. collection. He was a huge fan of R.E.M., and he had been constantly playing their GREEN album over the past several months, and always talking about their ‘awesome’ concert he had seen in Austin the previous year.

I never heard Matt and Trent discuss a road race at Firethorn Golf Course that evening. I know that they always teased one another about whose car was faster, better handling, etc. Matt’s 280ZX was newer, but Trent had put a lot of work into his own Nissan, a beautiful 240 Z painted British racing green. Trent was never able to discuss the topic for legal reasons, and Matt can’t answer now, but the police officer explained to me sometime during the following week, “If Trent and Matt had set out that night to ‘commit a criminal act’, then Trent could be charged with involuntary vehicular manslaughter.” It didn’t make sense to me that anyone would want to add that on top of the existing tragedy, thankfully that matter was subsequently dropped.

After a few hours of partying, we left Matt’s place to get some cigarettes. We stopped at the convenience store on 70th street, then took Pioneer to 84th, heading back north to Van Dorn. Matt told me to “Buckle up man! We’re going to do some serious scootin’. ” He proceeded to crank up his stereo, and hit the accelerator. I complied with his order, and let the momentum of the vehicle slide me back in my seat. I didn’t realize at the time that he hadn’t followed his own seat belt advice.

Trent described to the police later that he and Wally watched helplessly as Matt passed Trents’s car and hit the transition from pavement to gravel at a high rate of speed. Matt’s car skidded sideways, rolled into the ditch, then somehow flipped end over end above a high voltage power box. They speculated that Matt, not native to Lincoln, didn’t know that the road turned to gravel, and unfortunately responded by hitting the brakes.

Trent and Wally ran towards the flaming wreck to pull me out from the car, which had eventually settled on the driver’s side door. My only specific recollections were that R.E.M.’s Orange Crush had prophetically been playing on the stereo as we hit the gravel, and next I was unbuckling my blessed seat belt, causing me to fall down into the driver’s side cavity. The remaining aspects of this sequence are lost from my memory; however, my sub-conscious has since attempted to recreate the nightmare on multiple occasions.

I sat in the field, in complete shock, staring at the wreckage as tires exploded in succession- followed by the gas tank. Wally and Trent searched frantically for our fourth comrade. They found him some 50 yards away from the car. Matt and I rode together in the ambulance all the way across town to Lincoln General. While the EMT's shredded my clothes to bits attending to my various cuts and contusions, I looked over to see that Matt was still barely alive. He didn’t die until 8 a.m., that next morning.

So, that’s how I found myself sitting in a small church in Glenwood, IA, surrounded by numerous people whom I’d only met the day before at Matt’s wake. Of course, I met Matt’s parents the prior day too. His mother kept commenting how miraculous it was that at least one of us had lived. How unfortunate, I imagined her thinking, that it was I instead of her own son.

The funeral proceeded, as I suppose most funerals do. The minister gave an account of Matt’s life, and how he and Julie were planning to marry when they finished college. He spoke of Matt’s passion for life, music and friends. As I and the other pallbearers led the processional from the church, R.E.M.’s “The One I Love” played over the sound system- a farewell to a son, a lover, and a friend.

For the rest of the afternoon, my bandages served as identification to everyone that I was “the guy” who had survived the crash. The scars on my head and hand still serve as a reminder to me of my good fortune.

I was thankful to be alive, to be sure, but I couldn’t help wondering why it wasn’t me resting in that coffin instead of my friend. My attitude towards life declined further during the following months. I became more reckless and self-destructive, and I barely graduated from High School.

This event, however, defined the beginning of my search for spiritual meaning and purpose. I hadn’t grown up attending church, or having any religious frame of reference. My few attempts at reading the Bible had been random, awkward and meaningless up to that point. For the first time in my life, I began wondering if there truly was a God, and if so, did he care about me? Answering these questions would become my mission over the following year. I will write more on this pursuit in the coming days.