It was dark, and wet when the day started.

Thankfully, the fabulous dad of mine woke me up and sent me to work.

He decided to abandon the usual route of Jurong Town Hall, and headed for Boon Lay way down to Commonwealth Avenue West.

Just as we came to this junction, the red swirls of lights caught our attention as we came to a halt right before the traffic light.

A TP bike was right next to us, and the junction was abuzz with activities. Ceaseless traffic flow, with drivers exercising extreme caution as they went past policemen who were placing cones right in the midst of the traffic.

And then, there, I saw it.

It was exactly a week ago, on a casual Friday, when I witnessed one. Now, yet another.

It seemed like a pickup truck had hit someone. But there wasn’t any other damaged vehicle on the road.. except for a slight mess of fabric with a lone number tag next to it near where the cones were.

It was an uncomfortable sight… for it was just… you know, I just get easily upset by such stuff? And one after another in a week, is more than what I can take.

I looked away as we made our way to my office in the hesitant traffic.

And I heard the stories from Dad. I think the reason why I enjoy my dad sending me to work is because there are so many thing I never knew about him, until recently our little secret alliance against the mum who is grinding our nerves, has made him open up a little more. It may be because of the stress which he could hardly take, but I am more than glad to share.

He started his story of how some years ago, when he was driving, he saw a pickup truck that was right before him steering out of control.

It hit the road divider and into a tree.

He stopped his car immediately to help, and went to the wrecked vehicle.

The men inside was in shock and had his head in his hands, looking around, dazed and confused, and shaking his head in disbelief.

The lady in the passenger seat had her legs stuck under the wreck, and was unconscious. She didn’t have obvious injuries, and by now, a couple of other people had came to help.

My dad opened the door and tried to get them out, but the lady was stuck. He tried to pry away the metal so it would free the lady, but it wouldn’t compromise.

He looked up and the lady was beginning to bleed through her nose. It was trickling bit by bit, before a thick cake of blood had dried around her nostrils.

Her mouth was closed with her lips hardly parted.

At this point, dad was puzzled as he logically analysed that there should be bubbles or something if she was breathing through all that blood. And if she was breathing through her mouth.. well, you get the drift.

He did the “usual drama gesture” – he placed his hand before her nose and mouth.

No signs of life.

He got a rude shock and stopped.

The lady was in her 20s.

Few days later, someone he was working with took compassionate leave, and after speaking to her, he realised the deceased was a cousin of the said person. Yeah.. talk about coincidence.

My dad was told just before the accident, the couple got into a heated argument, which contributed to the accident.

So.. heartbreaking.

***

He then spoke of an incident back in 1960s, that disturbed him greatly.

Back then, he there was this Indian family, with a 4 or 5 year-old boy, who would hang around the shop they owned, which was near where my dad used to work.

I saw the tint of sadness that lingered in his eyes as he recounted, and I wondered if his compassion had made it too painful to recall the memories he had long hid away.

One afternoon, the mum had returned and was right across the road, and the jubilant little boy, in his eagerness, had dashed onto the road.

My dad recounted, “Then, there was this big truck which carried soil, came out of nowhere. It was so fast…. it was so fast that no one could do anything… I wanted to shout at him to back away, but it was so fast.. that before I could shout….”

It hit the boy. And the speed of the truck, combined with the force, had made what was left of the boy, a mess.

I asked how was the mother who witnessed the tragedy, and he told me how she had shouted at the boy to stop, but just didn’t do so in time.

She fainted at the sight.

My dad then repeated to say how loud she had screamt.. as if that memory, that moment, those words that never came out from his throat back then… had etched so vividly in his memories, after all these years.

He went on to say how it made him skip his meals for a long while.

There was a silence as I processed the words into mental images, and it got too painful.

And the journey, continued.

“Drive safe,” I said, as I got off, before I walked through the parting glass doors which were anticipating me.