Car Story

The various outcomes a human life can have amazes me. I think of it as funny. Not really a funny like “ha-ha that’s funny” but funny as in peculiar. A decision to go to the grocery store on a Tuesday instead of on a Wednesday can effect whether or not you become an ambassador or a garbage man. A second pause will mean you pass different people on the road, whether or not you run into an old friend, or, also, whether it is the day you die or not.

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I was pulling out of the bank with my mom in the passenger seat. I had just gotten my permit and driving was still exciting. The old Volvo wasn’t a fast or classy car, but it was a tank. My parents bought it because it was so safe.

“Put your seat belt on, Joe!” my mom exclaimed as she noticed I was driving away from the bank unfastened. I buckled it reluctantly. We were stopped at busy four-way. I was on my way to a movie store across the intersection. I watched as the light turned from red to green, and then proceeded.

What happened next was sort of a blur. I remember looking left, a white light, or was it a green blur? The scene was in slow motion, but also a split second. The blur bore down on me. There was nothing I could do, so it consumed me.

The car was totaled. No one was hurt. I remember after the crash pretty well. We were hit on the driver’s side, where I was. I was sitting there, a rush of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. My mom’s arm was pressed up against my chest. 

“Are you alright? Joe! Are you all right?” My mom said.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine! Are you okay?” I replied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I tried opening my door but it wouldn’t budge, being completely smashed in. I ended up crawling out the passenger side door. The car, we saw, was leaking fluid so we walked away fast. A man stopped his car to help the lady that crashed into us out of her car. She seemed pretty shaken up and a little pissed. She was older, probably in her seventies. She thought the light was green when she went through. Her daughter just bought the car. 

There were no injuries, except my sore neck and my mom’s bruised arm. 

Later on our way home when my dad picked us up, my mom thoughtfully said, “This will be part of your story someday, Joe.”

“Your right,” I said.