Crash

Picture this. Your existence, and everything you’ve worked for, ceases to matter. Maybe for a week you’ll be a celebrity. And then…

I know I’m a satirical writer but I promise this isn’t a satirical thought. In fact, it brings me much sadness. Nor do I think it’s true. But it does feel that way sometimes.

After getting hit by a car, my existentialism has gone up like stocks after 2009. 

Woof.

I can’t quite make sense of the car accident. To be honest I had no fault in the matter, which might have made it easier to comprehend, as arrogant as that sounds.

I was walking at a crosswalk, trying to find my way back home from BC campus with a dead phone (context: I had just gotten lunch with my sister in Newton and had recently applied to work at the school). Despite the stress, I was confident I’d find my way. In fact I was much less hurried than I would be if I was running late to work.

The leading car was stopped. Until I walked directly in front of it. Then the driver decided to slam the gas pedal. Talk about a lead foot. And a suddenly life threatening situation. Even my cat-like reflexes couldn’t pivot this. It was too late. 

The cards spelled out

Doom.

I didn’t even have time for my life to flash before my eyes.

I fell to the ground. But not before I instinctively shoveled all my strength into my left forearm and pushed the moving car away from me. If I didn’t already think I needed a knight in shining armor, now I definitely don’t. I basically pulled an Edward Cullen in Twilight. Okay maybe a combo of him and Bella, considering that I fell.

But for the first minute or two following the situation I was more shocked by my own strength than by the fact that I got pummeled by a car.

It was a lesson.

Mainly not to write about things I’m unprepared for. I had previously written a fictional scene about two beloved characters dying in Chestnut Hill, Newton, by a crazed driver. This was the same spot I got hit. I know because I climbed up said hill to figure out my way back to Boston. 

But my most important lesson for the next time is to take down insurance! And fake an injury like I’m in the world cup. My only condolence was a cringing Karen who said “I’m so sorry,” while her eyes said “Please don’t rat me out to insurance.”

Would’ve been a terrible way to go.