University friends, especially those who live together on campus, share deep bonds created through common interests and shared experiences.  I lived in residence at university for six years and some of my connections run deeper than most.  One dark night by the sea, six of us shared an experience together that changed our lives.

~~~

We were at an intercollegiate Christian camp.  Exhilarated by our seaside surroundings and our new friends, we threw off the shackles of our usual more mature selves and played like little kids devoid of decorum.  At two o’clock in the morning, while some of our friends had sensibly retired to bed, six of us were still firing on all cylinders and looking for some action.

“Let’s go for a drive!”

We’d borrowed our college chaplain’s car for the weekend.  It was a huge blue Ford V8 of a very mature vintage, older than us.  It cornered like a waddling wombat, but who cared?  Cam was the one entrusted with the keys and his eyes glinted at the prospect of forthcoming speed.  At the ripe old age of nineteen, I was the oldest of us.  I therefore hopped into the front passenger seat while the other four young ones clambered into the back seat.  They were squashed closely together and must have been uncomfortable, but no-one complained.  Cam started up the sleeping giant and the throaty roar of the Ford’s engine permeated the black night.  He planted his right foot and we thundered up the narrow driveway, showering gravel everywhere and shrieking with laughter.

Soon we were cruising along the foreshore, accelerating crazily between speed humps and braking hard just before scraping over them.  We weren’t exactly treating the borrowed car with respect, but for some reason, no-one seemed to care.  We screamed with delight instead, applauding Cam’s efforts and urging him on to greater feats.

Then something odd happened.

A pair of headlights appeared in the darkness behind us.  They flickered in the frosty air, hazy and distorted, like the eerie eyes of a predator.  Our big Ford slowed down to a crawl and we waited for the roar of the accelerating engine, followed by the sweeping pass.  They never happened.  Our frivolity subsided as this strange vehicle crawled slowly along behind us, playing cat and mouse in the dead of night.

We stopped.  They stopped.  We drove slowly for a kilometre or two.  They followed, keeping the same distance between us.  We stopped again.  They stopped too.

Without warning, Cam suddenly spun the steering wheel around.  Over our frightened protests, he drove up alongside the vehicle and wound down his window.  We saw three young men in a 4X4 – two in the cabin and one standing up in the tray.

Cam took a closer look.  He saw guns.  So did I. 

The stench of alcohol and an air of malevolence wafted into the front seat of the Ford.

Cam addressed the driver in a friendly tone. 

“Hi, fellas.  Out after foxes, are you?”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re doin’.  We’re huntin’ foxes.”

The youth was drawling, sarcastic, grasping at non-existent straws.

Cam exchanged pleasantries before driving away, slowly at first, and then at high speed.  We checked the rear vision mirror to make sure we weren’t being followed.  After a few kilometres, when it was clear that we were alone, we breathed again.  We’d faced potential danger and escaped unscathed.  We were young, alive and invincible.

~~~

We followed some road signs down to the local beach.  One of us wanted to see the sea.

The car lumbered onto the dirt track like a pregnant walrus.  One wheel disappeared up to the axle in a massive pothole.  The journey degenerated into farce as we rolled helplessly from one axle-deep abyss into the next, like a yacht in choppy waters.

Once, twice, we pulled over in a vain attempt to see the sea.  The night was black and there was no moon.  There were no signs of idyllic sand dunes or blissful rippling tides lapping the shore.

We debated the wisdom of continuing down this pitted, potholed track.  We considered going home and going to bed.  But we decided to keep driving.  The spirit of adventure was too strong.  We were young, alive and invincible.

~~~

It was one of the least comfortable journeys any of us had experienced.  After several more minutes of lurching, rolling, groaning and laughing, we finally approached the end of the track.  Only then did we discover that we were not alone in this desolate place in the dead of night.  A little yellow car was parked beside a rubbish bin all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey!  Hey, guys!  I bet they’re parking!”

“Cam!  Pull up behind them!  Flash the lights on full beam!”

Delighted at this apparent naughtiness, staring fixedly at the car before us, we leaned forward eagerly to find out what would happen next.

Nothing.  No movement.  No outraged naked bodies screaming at us to piss off.  The little yellow car sat docilely, quiet and still, before us.

I stared through the windscreen in confusion.  Suddenly, seventeen-year-old Tom quietly unbuckled his seatbelt.  What on earth was he doing?  I watched him with furrowed brow as he strode determinedly across the sand towards the yellow car.  I was still trying to unravel its mystery when one of the girls in the back seat leaned forward and hissed urgently in my ear.

Only then did I notice the enigmatic, sinuous black hose which was attached to the car’s exhaust pipe, and which snaked up and along the vulnerable little yellow body to penetrate the driver’s window …

~~~

Comprehension struck me with the force of a physical blow. 

Death lay in the little yellow car before us.

Tom opened the driver’s door, reached inside, turned off the car and shook the occupant’s shoulder.  Flaccid as a rag doll, the young man collapsed limply across the passenger’s seat and didn’t move.  A perceptible cloud of fumes issued from the open door.  Tom stepped stiffly back and turned to face us.  With a chilling gesture of finality, he drew his index finger slowly across his throat.

~~~

Ever dreamed that you were falling?  Ever woken abruptly to find yourself drenched in a cold sweat, clutching the bedclothes in horror?  For the first time, I experienced that sensation while I was awake …

~~~

Somehow, a shocked Tom found it within himself to rip the hose off the yellow car.  He dragged it to the Ford and stowed it in the boot.  He then clambered stiffly back into his seat and sat there in silence.  The three girls next to him were shaking and sobbing.  I reached into the back seat to grasp their shoulders or their hands, attempting to calm and comfort them.  This was my way of coping, of suppressing my own horror.  Cam sat as still as a statue in the driver’s seat, gazing fixedly ahead.

Time passed.  It could have been three minutes or thirty.  No-one knew.

Eventually, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.  We must do something.  This was the early nineties and we were poverty-stricken university students, so no-one had a mobile phone.  I felt that we had to leave and raise the alarm.  I cajoled Cam to get moving.  We needed to find the nearest police station, to do our duty and tell them what had happened, but more importantly, to offload some of the shock and horror that we all felt.

Cam sat in silence for many more long moments, ignoring our pleas to leave the scene.  It needed encouragement from all five of us before he would eventually turn the key.  The noise of the engine fell upon our ears like a hammer blow.  It felt almost irreverent in that sombre space.

Cam reversed very gradually before reluctantly selecting first gear.  He turned the wheel to the left and the huge Ford inched forwards.

“WAIT!” cried Tom.

We saw it, too.  Just as our headlights slid away from the little yellow car for the last time, a disembodied arm appeared from the dim depths and dangled limply across the steering wheel.

~~~

I stayed in the car to support the younger ones.  Cam stepped quietly outside and moved forward to speak with the other driver.  None of us could hear their conversation and we never discovered what was said. 

When he returned some time later, all he told us was that the young man had somewhere safe to go and he intended to get some help.  We had watched Tom remove the hosepipe and knew it was stowed safely in our own boot.  The young man started up his little yellow car and drove slowly back along that terrible rutted track with us following behind him.

We never did report the man to the police.  We came across a deserted carpark, stumbled out of the car and grasped each other tightly in a massive group hug.  Some of us laughed, others cried, and we all marvelled at the odds.

~~~

What if we’d gone to bed that night instead of going for a drive?

What if we’d gone straight home after encountering the youths in the 4X4?

What if we hadn’t decided to visit the beach and try to see the sea?

What if we hadn’t kept going right to the end of the track?

What if Tom hadn’t opened that car door, dispersing the noxious carbon monoxide fumes and exposing that man to the cold night air that revived him? 

What if we’d never found that little yellow car at precisely the exact moment needed to save a man’s life?

 

There is no such thing as coincidence.