Fun or Terror and the Karmann ghia (TW: Trauma)
It’s amazing how the brain works when suddenly thrown into a traumatic situation. Rather than deal with what is going on, the brain often causes the victim to go into an altered mental state.
It’s mid-afternoon on an early spring day in 1991. I’m coming home from school via a the city bus, just like I do everyday. I have a lot of homework, a rehearsal and a concert this evening. My plate is full, and I’m trying to prioritize in my head what needs to be done first. While disembarking the bus, I realize that my best bet is to run straight home with no delays, or the rest of today will suck.
I stand at the corner of Bayaud and Downing, a street corner with no crosswalks. Most pedestrians make the best of it either by stepping onto the median, or walking two blocks to the nearest traffic light. I step out onto the street, crossing in front of the bus just like I always do. I reach the median, and I spy a black car approaching. I cannot discern the speed. I am standing in an area surrounded by double yellow lines. The median should provide safety, but the car continues to approach me at a decent clip. I think the driver looks angry.
Dennis, the driver of the car, felt exasperated waiting for the bus to unload its passengers. Feeling irate at the idea of having to stop for pedestrians, he swerved to the left thinking it best to overtake the bus. The thought of crossing a median walled by double yellow lines did not bother him in the slightest. He didn’t have time to be concerned about the rules of the road. After all, he was an off duty cop.
Dennis did not anticipate that there would be a pedestrian in the middle of the median- me.
In a momentary flash of panic, I debate whether or not to head back to the shelter of the bus. It appears that the bus is beginning to move, so I must either stand my ground on the median hoping the car will stop, or run across the street with the hope that the oncoming traffic will slow down. It slows down, just as everything else does, eventually stopping completely. My breathing, my heartbeat, all paused momentarily. Yet the car is still moving toward me. Why is the car still coming closer? This hasn’t happened before…
It’s amazing how the brain works to alter your mental state when your life is in peril. To protect, the sense of time can stretch or condense, giving a feeling of non-linear movement. Some people see their lives flash before their eyes, while others experience a completely different life, all in a matter of a second.
I was standing on the asphalt watching as the black car closed the gap between itself and me, inch by inch. Now, I am sitting on my favorite roller-coaster, The Sidewinder, and we are descending into a loop. I am upside down, and I hear the screams of everyone in front and behind me. I could swear that I hear the screeching of tires, but a steel coaster wouldn’t have those now, would it? My feet are above me now, but they are not safely in the car of the coaster. How peculiar. My legs are free, and I am flying. Adrenaline rushes, and for that moment, I am exhilarated. No lines to wait in, no bar to lock us in. Just the force of impact propelling us forward, velocity picking up, and blissful space to fly through.
I am flying upside down in a somersault motion, and everything moves in slow motion. “I am flying!” I think to myself, “What a spectacular ride!”
Fellow riders on the Sidewinder are screaming. Whether in glee or terror, I cannot tell. I briefly wonder if I have been drugged, because I honestly cannot remember exactly how long I have been on this coaster, nor how I even got here. I feel my body collapse onto itself, yet still, I cannot help but believe this is just part of the ride.
I overhear the engineer talking to someone, or perhaps he is speaking directly to me. I am watching the bodies move forward through space while I am suddenly completely still.
“We made alterations so riders experience a faster adrenaline rush,” the engineer says to me. “Do you like it?”
Time seems to stop while I consider the question. Then it surges forward, and I am overwhelmed with motion and confused emotions. “Yes, totally!” I think. “This is more fun than a barrel of…“
Suddenly, everything stops. The Sidewinder is gone, and there never was a roller coaster called The Sidewinder. The ecstasy I felt flying through the air a second- no, lifetime- before- has turned into sheer terror. All too late, I realize that moment of bliss merely buffered what was truly happening. That black car had just crashed into me, and I was in serious trouble.
As time began to speed up, I realized I really was flying, thanks to the force of impact from the car. God only knows how fast I was going. I hit the ground hard, skidding a few feet down the street. My jeans are scraped up, from sliding across the asphalt; my backpack is next to me on the road. I am about fifteen feet away from the now stopped car. I try to stand, but my legs won’t budge. The man getting out of the car looks furious, and I realize I do NOT want him near me. Running on adrenaline, I jump up and limp across the street as fast as I can. Pain be damned.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Dennis swears repeatedly as he exits the car. “Don’t run away! You’ve JUST been hit by a car! Please don’t run!”
A woman quickly overtakes me as I reach the sidewalk. She is a blonde lady in her late 30s. I do not catch her name. She asks me if I am okay, and I admit that I have no idea.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she says, and she rushes to the nearest house to use a phone.
“I can’t go, I have rehearsal,” I think, panic flooding me. I sit down, because it hurts to stand. I don’t focus on the pain. Rather, I think about the amount of trouble I am now in. My mom will be furious with me, and if they make me go, I will miss rehearsal, and homework won’t be done before tonight. The woman returns, and tries to reassure me that everything will be okay. Paramedics have arrived, and now try to lift me into the ambulance, ignoring my protests.
Someone fills in the blanks for me later, the driver was an off-duty cop. He is given a ticket. He gets off lightly. I am blessed with a sprained ankle and months of PTSD following the accident. My grades suffer, and I become depressed. Eventually, I recover, but I never willingly go near that intersection again.
I am a statistic. A filed report lists me as the victim of an auto-pedestrian accident at the corner of Bayaud and Downing that afternoon in 1991. Years later, the bus stop is moved to a safer location, and lines are drawn for a pedestrian crossing.
It’s terrifying how the brain works, and how you react when thrown into shock. The woman who called the paramedics also called my mother to deliver the news. When my mother answered the phone, the lady said only this, “Your daughter has been hit by a car. But don’t worry. It’s only a Karmann ghia.”
It’s mid-afternoon on an early spring day in 1991. I’m coming home from school via a the city bus, just like I do everyday. I have a lot of homework, a rehearsal and a concert this evening. My plate is full, and I’m trying to prioritize in my head what needs to be done first. While disembarking the bus, I realize that my best bet is to run straight home with no delays, or the rest of today will suck.
I stand at the corner of Bayaud and Downing, a street corner with no crosswalks. Most pedestrians make the best of it either by stepping onto the median, or walking two blocks to the nearest traffic light. I step out onto the street, crossing in front of the bus just like I always do. I reach the median, and I spy a black car approaching. I cannot discern the speed. I am standing in an area surrounded by double yellow lines. The median should provide safety, but the car continues to approach me at a decent clip. I think the driver looks angry.
Dennis, the driver of the car, felt exasperated waiting for the bus to unload its passengers. Feeling irate at the idea of having to stop for pedestrians, he swerved to the left thinking it best to overtake the bus. The thought of crossing a median walled by double yellow lines did not bother him in the slightest. He didn’t have time to be concerned about the rules of the road. After all, he was an off duty cop.
Dennis did not anticipate that there would be a pedestrian in the middle of the median- me.
In a momentary flash of panic, I debate whether or not to head back to the shelter of the bus. It appears that the bus is beginning to move, so I must either stand my ground on the median hoping the car will stop, or run across the street with the hope that the oncoming traffic will slow down. It slows down, just as everything else does, eventually stopping completely. My breathing, my heartbeat, all paused momentarily. Yet the car is still moving toward me. Why is the car still coming closer? This hasn’t happened before…
It’s amazing how the brain works to alter your mental state when your life is in peril. To protect, the sense of time can stretch or condense, giving a feeling of non-linear movement. Some people see their lives flash before their eyes, while others experience a completely different life, all in a matter of a second.
I was standing on the asphalt watching as the black car closed the gap between itself and me, inch by inch. Now, I am sitting on my favorite roller-coaster, The Sidewinder, and we are descending into a loop. I am upside down, and I hear the screams of everyone in front and behind me. I could swear that I hear the screeching of tires, but a steel coaster wouldn’t have those now, would it? My feet are above me now, but they are not safely in the car of the coaster. How peculiar. My legs are free, and I am flying. Adrenaline rushes, and for that moment, I am exhilarated. No lines to wait in, no bar to lock us in. Just the force of impact propelling us forward, velocity picking up, and blissful space to fly through.
I am flying upside down in a somersault motion, and everything moves in slow motion. “I am flying!” I think to myself, “What a spectacular ride!”
Fellow riders on the Sidewinder are screaming. Whether in glee or terror, I cannot tell. I briefly wonder if I have been drugged, because I honestly cannot remember exactly how long I have been on this coaster, nor how I even got here. I feel my body collapse onto itself, yet still, I cannot help but believe this is just part of the ride.
I overhear the engineer talking to someone, or perhaps he is speaking directly to me. I am watching the bodies move forward through space while I am suddenly completely still.
“We made alterations so riders experience a faster adrenaline rush,” the engineer says to me. “Do you like it?”
Time seems to stop while I consider the question. Then it surges forward, and I am overwhelmed with motion and confused emotions. “Yes, totally!” I think. “This is more fun than a barrel of…“
Suddenly, everything stops. The Sidewinder is gone, and there never was a roller coaster called The Sidewinder. The ecstasy I felt flying through the air a second- no, lifetime- before- has turned into sheer terror. All too late, I realize that moment of bliss merely buffered what was truly happening. That black car had just crashed into me, and I was in serious trouble.
As time began to speed up, I realized I really was flying, thanks to the force of impact from the car. God only knows how fast I was going. I hit the ground hard, skidding a few feet down the street. My jeans are scraped up, from sliding across the asphalt; my backpack is next to me on the road. I am about fifteen feet away from the now stopped car. I try to stand, but my legs won’t budge. The man getting out of the car looks furious, and I realize I do NOT want him near me. Running on adrenaline, I jump up and limp across the street as fast as I can. Pain be damned.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Dennis swears repeatedly as he exits the car. “Don’t run away! You’ve JUST been hit by a car! Please don’t run!”
A woman quickly overtakes me as I reach the sidewalk. She is a blonde lady in her late 30s. I do not catch her name. She asks me if I am okay, and I admit that I have no idea.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she says, and she rushes to the nearest house to use a phone.
“I can’t go, I have rehearsal,” I think, panic flooding me. I sit down, because it hurts to stand. I don’t focus on the pain. Rather, I think about the amount of trouble I am now in. My mom will be furious with me, and if they make me go, I will miss rehearsal, and homework won’t be done before tonight. The woman returns, and tries to reassure me that everything will be okay. Paramedics have arrived, and now try to lift me into the ambulance, ignoring my protests.
Someone fills in the blanks for me later, the driver was an off-duty cop. He is given a ticket. He gets off lightly. I am blessed with a sprained ankle and months of PTSD following the accident. My grades suffer, and I become depressed. Eventually, I recover, but I never willingly go near that intersection again.
I am a statistic. A filed report lists me as the victim of an auto-pedestrian accident at the corner of Bayaud and Downing that afternoon in 1991. Years later, the bus stop is moved to a safer location, and lines are drawn for a pedestrian crossing.
It’s terrifying how the brain works, and how you react when thrown into shock. The woman who called the paramedics also called my mother to deliver the news. When my mother answered the phone, the lady said only this, “Your daughter has been hit by a car. But don’t worry. It’s only a Karmann ghia.”