The Professor and I used to watch I Survived, a dramatic reality TV series that showcased the stories of people who found themselves in mortal trouble but lived to tell about it in their own words. Maybe you’ve seen it?
Theirs were amazing true stories of surviving against incredible odds. The Professor and I would watch horrified as they overcame things like serial killers, domestic violence, sexual abuse, kidnappings, blizzards, lethal chlorine gas released in a train wreck, shipwrecks in waters teeming with blood-thirsty sharks, attacks by enraged grizzly bears, and worse. We still watch reruns.
The other day here at St. Gertrude’s I told a few sisters about not being raped or murdered myself once and why. Of being spared by a still, small voice. But this morning I wished they – and you – could have seen my story on I Survived Too. It would make for a much better story on TV with first person narrative, dramatic music, and photos. Since there is no such show, I thought I’d tell it to you like there was. As if I Survived Too is a real thing.
BLACK SCREEN.
TITLE: I SURVIVED TOO. TERI, MERCED, CALIFORNIA. 1987.
CUT TO BLACK SCREEN. CUE EERIE MUSIC. TERI SPEAKS.
It was about 11 at night, I think. I was twenty-two and married to the Professor. He was a trout farmer then, out on the Merced River in Central California.
CUT TO TERI IN FRONT OF BLACK SCREEN. TERI SPEAKS.
We had a pretty, little cottage on the banks of the river. We were happy. We lived out on a farm where we worked for my father-in-law raising rainbow trout. Across the cool, clear river was a nice little town where we got our mail, a county park, and a few houses on the outskirts. To get to the other side of the Merced River we had to drive downriver to the main highway and cross a bridge. Everything was either across that bridge or the other way, in the City of Merced, over 20 miles from the farm.
On our side of the river, up above the floodplain with its thick woodlands, there was a turkey farm and a cattle ranch. In the spring the hillsides were emerald green but in the summer, it was empty sun-bleached, wide-open countryside with rolling hills as far as you could see down toward Merced. There weren’t even cows out there that time of year.
To get off the farm for groceries or church we drove three miles on a gravel road next to a deep, fast-moving irrigation canal, stopped at a locked gate to unlock and then re-lock it, and then drove several miles on a deserted county road to get to the main highway leading into Merced. It was about eight or nine more miles and four long straightaways before we’d get to a tree or a house. Merced was about four miles past that. Going back home was the same but in reverse.
BLACK SCREEN. CUE STACCATO MUSIC CHORD.
CUT TO PHOTO OF NIGHT SKY. TERI SPEAKS.
I’d been in Merced with friends that night. It was late but still hot so I’d rolled down my window.
I’d gotten used to going out alone at night and coming home late. If the Professor didn’t go, I went by myself or I stayed home.
Where we lived was safe enough. The only gangs around in those days were two and a half hours away in Fresno or on the other side of Merced.
I was careful. I have this sixth sense about danger but there wasn’t anything that signaled that this night could be different.
BLACK SCREEN.
CUT TO TERI IN FRONT OF BLACK SCREEN. CUE STACCATO MUSIC CHORD. TERI SPEAKS.
Before I left Merced’s last subdivision on my way back to the farm, I looked behind me and then a mile or two ahead like I always did to make sure there weren’t suspicious-looking cars anywhere. If I saw something, a car that triggered alarm bells, I’d turn into the subdivision and circle back around to see if it was following me. None ever was but I always watched anyway because once I left the subdivision there was no turning around, no houses, and no other roads. Only the long, lonely, empty highway.
That night as I went through my leaving-Merced-safety-check, I was satisfied no one was following. There were no headlights behind me and only one set of tail lights ahead. I didn’t usually worry about those so long as they kept a consistent distance ahead.
I started out the first long straightaway and passed the tail lights I’d seen ahead of me. It was a slow-moving, late-model, light-colored Honda Accord. Back then, Accords were the vehicle of choice for young families and the upwardly mobile. They didn’t even register on my watch-scale.
A mile or so after I passed it, the Accord caught up and sped past me, disappearing around a bend. By the time I got to the next straightaway it was nowhere in sight. I still wasn’t worried. The Accord was long gone.
BLACK SCREEN.
CUT TO PHOTO OF CAR ON DESERTED HIGHWAY AT NIGHT. CUE EERIE MUSIC. TERI SPEAKS.
But around another bend and after a few more miles, on the right shoulder there was the Accord again. It was pulled over with its emergency lights flashing.
I rolled up my window. As I slowed to pass, I could see there were several people inside, but I didn’t stop. I passed it cautiously.
I checked but there weren’t any other lights in front of or behind me and I kept going. Maybe they really needed help, but it wasn’t coming from this woman all by herself so late at night. I turned another bend, onto the fourth straightaway, and lost sight of the tail lights still flashing behind me.
Suddenly, the Accord roared up behind me, flashing its headlights and riding my bumper. I was still unconcerned but confused, trying to put its actions into context with what I assumed about the Accord’s occupants. Bad guys don’t drive Honda Accords, I thought.
It didn’t make sense. I looked ahead again to see if someone might come to my aid but saw we were all alone on the highway. It was just the Accord and me.
Then, as I watched it in my rear view mirror, this thought popped into my head. It was, say aloud what Elisha did in 2 Kings 6:17 when the blinded Arameans attacked him. So, I did.
Without taking my eyes off the Accord I said from memory, “There are more with me than with them. Lord, open their eyes so they can see the hills full of horses and the chariots of fire all around this car.”
The words had no more than come out of my mouth than the Accord swerved out from behind me, passed, and rocketed ahead.
I’ll never know what the guys in the Accord saw but their reaction was explosive. The Accord zoomed off like the hounds of hell – or maybe horses and burning chariots – were on its back. I watched its tail lights for several miles before it was out of sight. I wasn’t afraid. I never saw it again.
BLACK SCREEN. CUE EERIE MUSIC.
CUT TO TERI IN FRONT OF BLACK SCREEN. TERI SPEAKS.
I wonder about the guys in the Accord. I assume they were men. I wonder, why didn’t they do whatever it was they had planned for me. If they intended to rape, murder, or otherwise harm me, why didn’t they? Why was I spared when so many others aren’t?
I wonder too why, despite my sixth sense for danger, why wasn’t I frightened even when they tried to stop me? There were three of them and only one of me. What could I have done?
And did they really see horses and chariots of fire around my car or maybe a guardian angel riding shotgun on the roof? I like to think so. Whatever it was, it saved me.
BLACK SCREEN. CUE EERIE MUSIC.
CUT TO TIGHT SHOT OF TERI’S FACE IN FRONT OF BLACK SCREEN. TERI SPEAKS.
I survived too because I heard a still, small voice telling me what to do and then did it. I survived because they didn’t rape, murder, or even stop me. I survived because it wasn’t my time. Because the guys in the Accord lost their nerve. Maybe they saw something that they didn’t understand, something that scared them and protected me. I survived too.
CUT TO BLACK SCREEN. CUE EERIE MUSIC. CREDITS.
END.
Maybe I should ask the sisters if they’d like to hear my story again. I guess I’m pretty dramatic too.