Kapiolani Community College
Diamond Journal 2004

The Guilty Hero
Jamie M. Fain

I was in shock. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what happened and what I could do to help. I had never been in this type of situation before and would have never thought I’d be the first person to arrive at the scene of an accident. Rescuing a person has never crossed my mind, let alone putting that same person in jail.

It all started one late summer afternoon in Arkansas. My mom, my sister, and I were traveling back home from the shopping mall. We were in a hurry because Grandma was angry with us since we were late for dinner. It seemed as though we were never gong to reach our destination. My mother was driving slowly since the roads in Arkansas are narrow with neverending turns. It is hard to see ahead of you and are always on the lookout for deer that might try to cross the road right in front of your car. Well, we took this one particularly large turn and on the other side was something that I will never forget.

A white Chevy Blazer was on the side of the road; smoke was pouring from its engine. The vehicle was so smashed that it resembled a piece of tin foil that someone had crumpled between their hands. I yelled, “Mom, you have to stop, somebody needs to help this person.” She pulled over onto the side of the road and I jumped out and raced to the Blazer. There was a man in the driver’s seat. He was motionless. He reminded me of a crash test dummy slumped over the steering wheel with an expressionless face. He had scratches on his face and arms. Even though the cuts were small, blood gushed from them. He looked as if he had not taken a bath for days; his hair was so greasy it was standing on end, and the dirt on his skin had created brown blotches.

I knew the man needed to get out of the smoking vehicle, so I pried the car door open. The commotion must have caused him to regain consciousness. He looked at me with a blank stare for awhile. In a Southern accent, he slurred, “What the hell have you done to me?” At that point, I knew why the man had flipped his vehicle in the one car accident. The whiskey on his breath was so potent that I almost gagged. He was trying to get out of the car, and was having a difficult time because he didn’t realize his seat belt was still on. Once he got out, he immediately pulled out a cigarette and started smoking. You could tell he was an avid smoker by the yellowish brown stains on his teeth. He was trying to stand still, but was constantly swaying back and forth with an occasional stumble. I tried to keep him occupied by talking to him. I asked him several times if he was alright, but he really didn’t have much to say back since he was still in shock and drunk.

I walked over to my mom and sister; they were waiting in the car for me, and asked them to call the police. I hadn’t been away from the man for more than a minute and in the meantime, he decided to try and leave the scene of the accident. He managed to climb back into the Blazer and start the engine, but his drunken state didn’t help. He put the car in reverse, floored the gas pedal, and drove straight back into a highway sign. I ran over to him screaming, “What the hell are you doing; you are going to kill yourself if you go any further.” He stopped, put his head on the steering wheel for a moment, then stumbled out of the vehicle and sat down beside it. He sat there with his hands slumped over his knees and his eyes fixated on the asphalt baking in the sun. I asked him if he wanted to call anyone to let them know what was going on and I told him help was on its way. At that moment, he jumped up and went straight to the back of his Blazer.

The man started rummaging through his things; he seemed determined to do something, but I was unsure of his motive. I was trying to keep myself occupied and not fixated on what he was doing. Fishing poles, an empty water bottle, and a pair of socks were just a few of the items that he had tossed onto the ground. He looked up at me and caught me looking at him so I turned away. I wanted to see what he was so interested in, so I kept looking up at him every so often. At one point, I looked up at him just in time to see him throw a bottle of alcohol into the bushes. I think the astounded reaction on my face immediately told him that I saw what he did, so he gave me a look that I think meant, “You better not tell the police or else.” As a result, I decided not to say anything unless they asked me.

It seemed like it took days for the police to arrive. When they finally got to the scene, they went directly over to the man and made sure he was not hurt, then they started asking questions. They took me aside and thanked me for what I had done and asked if I was a witness to the accident. I explained I got there after the accident occurred, but was the first person to help the man. While the officer was talking to me, I could hear the other officers behind me talking to the man and saying, “Please follow my pen with your eyes only. You have to keep your body in one place, just move your eyes.” I knew the police could smell the alcohol on him. It seemed like he was failing the tests they were giving him.

I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be much longer before the police asked me a question pertaining to any evidence of alcohol. I was right. “Miss, did you see this man throw anything from his vehicle,” the officer asked me. I could feel the officer’s eyes looking down on me. I looked over at the man and he was standing between two policemen waiting for me to answer the question. He had that blank stare on his face, but this time his body was stiff, his hands clinched in a fist, he was grinding his teeth, and his eyes were screaming as if to tell me not to say a word. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and started explaining what I had seen. I told them the man was rummaging through his vehicle and threw a bottle of some type into the bushes. The police then asked me to point out where it landed. I showed them and in a matter of seconds, they pulled out an almost empty whiskey bottle. They held it up in front of the man; he looked at me with anger and disappointment, then put his head down.

One officer started to read him his rights while another officer handcuffed him. I felt awful; tears started to fill my eyes. It was almost as if I had gotten him into trouble. I was so kind in the beginning, I helped him, maybe even saved his life. Now I was putting him into jail. I kept telling myself over and over that he could have killed someone and he was wrong to be drinking and driving. As they put him in the back of the police car, he stared at me with that expressionless face that I had seen countless times throughout the incident. However, this time a tear rolled down his cheek. I couldn’t bear the guilty feeling I had, so I turned away and walked over to my mother and sister. To this day, I am proud to know I helped the man, but I will never forget the fact that I was the one to put him into jail.