Four Identical Men (November 12/13, 2015, Saratoga, NY)

The following is an account of an event Elizabeth and I went through on the night of Thursday, November 12, 2015 (and early morning of Friday, November 13) going north on I-87, just south of exit 16 near Saratoga, NY. I wrote this account down a few days later, after recovering from the accident. I published it on my other blog, as well as in my 2016 short story collection, "I'm Going to Leave My Sunglasses On".

This stretch of highway has occassionally been the location of other strange occurrences told to me (which I may recount in some form eventually), and even one more very odd event for Elizabeth and I nearly a year later.

Though the names have been changed (as I often practice when writing about real people), the following is my account of the event;

My neck and shoulder had ached since the car accident. The most recent. Elle and I had ended up in some trees just off the interstate at somewhere near seventy at one in the morning and we were both fine except her hand hurt and my car was destroyed and my neck and shoulder ached since. Everyone said we were lucky and I guess we were. Everyone kept saying, "You must be so glad to be alive, right?" and I said "yeah, totally different now," because it's easier than saying, "No man, I could have been done with this, but here I fucking am. Here we fucking are. This conversation. This day. A hundred just like it. Waiting for me. Real lucky."

Nobody wants to hear indifference toward what should have been a life changing moment. Indifference, or disappointment. In August I had found myself accidentally mid-trip on the interstate and quite literally had to scream at myself to not crash into what may have been the same trees because I was afraid that if I died and it was found that I was fucked up then people would assume I had made a mistake, or that for whatever reason, I wouldn't have wanted it. But there I was, a little after one in the morning, sober. Sitting out of breath, bruises coming to the surface, seatbelt burns brightening, and fucking alive.  I called my mother because I am pretty sure I don't actually have anyone else. She answered and Elle was waking up next to me.

"I crashed the car."

My mother panicked on the phone.

"It's fine." I was jiggling the door handle but it wouldn't open.

"We have to get out of here," Elle said, still half asleep,  or whatever the term is for someone knocked out in a car crash.

Stupidly, I tried to put it in reverse, but the engine made no sound. "Nope," I said.

My mother asked where I was. I said I was near Springer, maybe. I had to go out and find a mile marker.

I tried to open the door again but it wouldn't open. "I can't get the fucking door open," I said to my mother.

She told me to calm down. I unbuckled and pulled at the door handle and kicked and pulled and kicked again and the door swung open and hit a tree and I shoved myself out.

My mother, on the phone, in my ear, kept telling me to stay calm. Kept asking me if I was okay. If Elle was okay. Yes, yes, yes, I kept replying. I walked up the embankment and slipped once or twice but when I got to the top we were at a mile marker and I told my mother which one and she said she was on her way. She said she loved me and she hung up. I looked at the car and Elle was pushing her door open also. Headlights came near and pulled to the side of the interstate and stopped.

The two doors I could see of the Jeep opened and on the side I couldn't see the other two doors also opened.

I couldn't see them at first, but once they stepped in front of the headlights I could. They were thin men, not unhealthy though. All thin features, and the faces of working men, real working men, not in an office. A farm maybe. They all had blonde hair and I thought, maybe concussed, that they were all the same person. They all looked the same. They were all the same. All four. 

Two went down the hill and one went to the back of the Jeep after looking the scene over and one handed me a cell phone. "Call the police."

"Okay," I said and used his phone. It wasn't locked and I didn't use my phone. 

The other one that had stayed with us topside came back with flares, and while I described to the police what happened he lit them and set them down then stood next to the one that handed me the phone. The other two came back up the hill and I could see Elle following them.

"You'll be all right. Help is coming," the one with the phone said. Another nodded and they all climbed back into the Jeep and drove off and in the light of the flares I held Elle and we waited for the police or my mother.

"What happened?" Elle asked.

"I don't know."

"I mean... Did you fall asleep?"

"No."

"Is it a dream?"

"I don't think so."

"I don't feel okay."

"We have to."

"I'm glad you're okay," she said.

I kissed her head. "I'm glad you're okay. I am so sorry."

The police came first. Then the tow truck. Then my mother.

There I was. Sober and a little after one in the morning, holding a girl I had loved and betrayed and watching one of the last pillars, crushed and bent, pulled from the woods and into the past. 

There I still was. 

In the past, when recounting this story to friends or family, the common explanation for the four men (the only detail people focus on is that they were all four identical) was that I had a concussion and imagined it. I don't discount it. I have no explanation for why the car went off the road and there was an odd dent in the back of the car even though the back shouldn't have hit anything on the way down. Neither the police nor the insurance inspector thought that dent was relevant. However it was also the behavior of the men that we found disturbing. They came from nowhere. All four served a purpose quickly and as though rehearsed. One "comforted" me and handed me a phone. One set up a flare. One went directly to the back seat of the car and tossed an old beer can away (that I didn't realize was there at all), then walked Elizabeth up the hill. One inspected the car, though beyond a cursory glance ("yep she's totalled") I don't know what they were looking for. Once all four finished their purpose they all at once climbed back into the jeep and drove off.

As I said, in telling this to others, I usually am met with "you had a concussion so everything seemed weird." Possible, though I doubt it. However, twice after I have met people who have told similar tales. One of which in NY after I told mine, and another without my prompt, from a friend in Austin. Four men, all identical (and blond). Showing up to the scene of an accident, completing tasks quickly and swiftly, then leaving just as quickly.

I have looked a bit into this online and am yet to discover much of anything.