This is not Vietnam. Long gone are the beautiful roads, instead replaced by bits of asphalt and orange dust. Husband said that Buddhists have been wearing orange robes for so long that they have forgotten why. I think I have discovered the long lost secret. The sun does not glow orange naturally.
If you lose your cool for a moment, if you take your eye off the road, if you get comfortable, if you think you have it all figured out there will always be a very large reminder telling you that you fucking don’t. The Wild West, husband calls it.
They say accidents happen at the end of a trip. Tired, excited to get to your destination, you make mistakes. We both knew a 10 hour bike ride was not ideal, however we had done it before. In Vietnam. But this is not Vietnam.
Night came and suddenly everything was dark, and not in a way that you can let your eyes adjust. The orange dust continues throughout the night creating a haze of varying degrees of brightness. Large trucks, cars with their brights on, small motorbikes, helmets with torches strapped to them. We took those roads too fast, hoping to get to our destination. We knew something would happen.
Today, the morning after, we were finally able to put words together. Both of us feeling like it wasn’t our experience, but we didn’t know who’s experience it was. He was hit, I had to watch. In the end I guess it was both of ours.
Husband said, we are married, we share it all.
I’m glad he’s alive. I’m scared to do this all again in two days. Perhaps I should say a prayer…or maybe wear orange.