Sadly the most noteworthy event in a while
It was nearing ten o’clock, and I was almost out of gas. Besides the steady ache in my head from early on in the day, and a creeping tiredness that threatened to overtake some of my muscles, I was feeling pretty alright. I took the highway to Vernon from East Hartford, where I’d been visiting Carlo. The music that my mp3 player chose on the way was acceptable, but not good enough to make me complacent with even the short length of the drive. I was anxious to get to the New Alliance in Vernon and get some money…my car has never yet failed me when it comes to running on fumes, but I still get antsy when that needle hovers at the “E” for a whole day or two.
Once I reached the bank I spent an impatient two or three minutes upending my green bag, digging through a ridiculous amount of personal crap that’s been building up in there over the past few weeks. Portable speakers, a book by Salinger, a water bottle, memo book, Queens of the Stone Age single, a blockbuster movie that’s way past due, five or six plastic cards ranging from all state to Barnes and noble gift certificates. Just a ton of random stuff. I threw a good deal of it on the already cluttered floor, thinking I’d need to clean out the passenger side foot well when I got home. It turned out to be a waste of time…since my ATM card was no where among the work clothes and sunglasses. Rolling my eyes at my own stupidity (It’s probably still in my skirt pocket in my closet) I backed out of the parking space and rolled back through the deserted parking lot to the street. I don’t know what street actually. Just some big, multiple lane one that I hate during the day, because there’s so many cars and a hefty percentage go very quickly.
Now it was fine though. There was a single, lonely set of headlights to my left, heading towards me out of the South Windsor area. From the other direction, two cars headed towards the bank, one of them signaling to turn in around me. I could have made my left and headed home before this car even arrived, he turned out to be going so slowly. But, unsure of his speed I just sat still and waited, almost patiently, while he pulled around my car up the driveway into the bank. As he went past on my left, I turned out into the road.
Fight test was playing on the mp3. Good song. Reminds me of some times that weren’t terribly exciting but were peaceful and relatively happy. I might have been singing along, without really noticing or hearing myself.
The world suddenly exploded in front of me. I caught a glimpse of red paint and a tire, and then there was a bang that was actually much quieter inside my head and my car than it was in the street outside. It was odd, because I felt the skid more than the impact. There was a white explosion in my face and I felt my upper body get slapped sideways. My face lifted as if I’d been struck underhand in a fight. While the tires still skated over the pavement, everything was temporarily very still. It wasn’t just quiet, it was dead silent. I somehow had time to think a multitude of small, unimportant things like “Alright, so that’s what that kind of force feels like” and “This must be it”. It’s hard to describe the way I was scared out of my mind, peripherally, but most of my brain was utterly at peace. It was too soon to feel pain, to late to feel fear of impending doom, and I was completely alright with the fact that I might already be dying. Then everything went black for a second while my head swung back against the head restraint. I think it was one of those internal control voices (the ones that won’t let you take the easy road) who said “No, don’t.” meaning that I shouldn’t allow the peace and freedom from all responsibility that would come with passing out, if that’s what I was trying to do. My eyes opened to a slightly different view, mostly of the stereo, which was still playing audibly. I sat up into a cloud of white dust and smoke and immediately lost the ability to breathe. My hands scrambled for the seat belt button, and I made a passing attempt to turn the car off, forgetting that I couldn’t since it was still in drive. Strange is that while I’d been calm before, the idea of asphyxiation produced a minor kind of panic. Granted, it wasn’t actually likely, but I felt like I was drowning in the acrid, white powder flying around. It smelled like burning bleach.
At last I got the door open and fell out onto the pavement, stumbling a step or two away from the car and coughing violently. As the cooling air of the evening hit my face I became aware that there was something wrong with it. My head hurt, and my arm stung like it’d been dragged across the pavement like my car. The driver of the other vehicle was standing on the other side of his car and he said something angry and accusatory that included the word “fuck”. I heard him, but can’t remember what it was he said. I tried to answer and kept coughing. A moment later he asked if I was alright. I nodded and then made an attempt to apologize for what I’d done, already feeling embarrassment take over my emotions in a deep horrified way that was almost worse than the fear I’d felt in the moments before. Since I obviously wasn’t dead, and neither was the other man, all that was left of the moment were the two destroyed cars and the small injuries we’d suffered, all my fault, all my responsibility. My next recurring thought was something in regards to how royally I’d just fucked up my life. One hour ago, I was fine. Now; no car, no money, and nasty repercussions from the insurance company. Not to mention the fact that I’d very quickly lost all the trust I’d been building up in my mother. I’d lost all the self confidence I’d gained by my own careful driving. I’ve always known that I’m not a good driver, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. I just make a stupid mistake, that’s all.
I called my mother, and the cops showed up. I explained what had happened, and gave him the paperwork. After that, it was a lot of waiting around and crying intermittently after I spoke to my mother. A young fireman came and spoke to me for a while, to keep me calm and all that, and for a few moments things were obscenely normal. I carried out the same conversation with him that I’ve had with countless people I barely know. We talked about colleges.
It started raining, and when we were finally allowed to leave, I sat in the back seat of my mother’s van, watching the medley of emergency lights and hurting in a lot of ways. I couldn’t help running my fingers over my face, tactilely observing the strangeness of the skin on my left cheek. My lips were a different size on that side. I knew it wasn’t too bad, but it was still extremely strange feeling, and I could only imagine how it looked.
At home, Steveo was waiting for me, and I allowed myself to be held for a number of minutes, feeling more alright than I had since the moment of impact. Strangely, I hadn’t wanted to be near my mother, when she’d arrived. Maybe it was my disgust with myself, or my desire to take the responsibility for the situation myself, rather than let her take it. I don’t know.
I went into the bathroom and turned on the light. I didn’t quite take a deep breath, because that would have been melodramatic, so I just looked at the mirror as casually as possible. My left cheek was swollen and round and a motley mix of colors from pink to black. My cheekbone and jaw line were turning purple. I noticed that my chest, right around the collar bone, was bleeding. To Steveo I said “I fell down some stairs” and we laughed. He said I could use the injury to inspire make up next fall and go as a domestic dispute for Halloween. My parents didn’t seem to get that one, but I laughed. In the end, he and my mom convinced me to go to the emergency room, just because. Steveo waited with me for nearly three hours and we watched the fresh prince while Doctors and nurses came and went, took x-rays, and eventually decided what I’d already suspected; I was basically fine. For the abrasions, I got a prescription for percocet, and finally went home.
Worse than the loss of vehicle and all that is the sense that I don’t deserve the attention I’m getting, I don’t deserve the care and devotion of my family and the people around me. The whole mess is my fault…the last thing I feel I deserve is pity and compassion. Steveo keeps saying not to beat myself up over it but I cant really help it. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, driving into another vehicle like that. Good god, you’d think I’d be able to do something right.
Oh well.
I’m not dead, anyway.