This blinking cursor is at me again. But some things are hard for even me to write about. I just have to try and get this off my chest. It won't feel real otherwise.
It had been a long day, the kind you get through on adrenaline, unaware of how tired you really are. I remember getting into my car, the cool night air on my skin, and feeling enormous relief that the day was over. I had played two 4-hour jobs in 10 hours and was overworked and exhausted. There was a beautiful, half moon distracting me in her effortlessly clear sky, and she shown down on the acres of hills behind Renault Winery as I strained to stay awake on the road. I came to a dark, barren intersection that is almost always deserted. I looked to my left and saw only blackness, and to my right I saw a light that looked as though it was very far in the distance. I sped straight through the intersection without so much as slowing down.
After this, the night became a movie - an altered consciousness. I saw a light that grew both stronger and wider, and in a moments notice it blinded my eyes and I was forced to cover my face with my arm. Then came a split-second of recognition of what was to happen, and time froze absolutely solid. In slow motion, I felt the weight of a wrecking ball crash against the metal around me, as my body was tossed around like a rag doll in a dog's mouth. My ears were deafened by the shriek of screeching wheels. It was if the ground itself was screaming. I don't think I will ever forget that sound.
Coughing. I was coughing a lot. There was smoke everywhere. I breathed in chemicals and the acid stench of burnt oil. The blood red light of my CD player, illuminated the smoke and particles hanging in the air. The air bags were both deployed and for a moment I thought I was suffocating. Paula Cole's "Lovelight" was loudly blaring on the speakers. It felt so weird to hear her doleful music, unchanged in that moment of disaster, like it was the wrong film score for this scene in my life. Somebody hadn't gotten the memo that tonight was to be Anj's crash. It should've been Radiohead. Smashing Pumpkins. Damien Rice's "9".
I don't know how long I sat there, but I texted people calmly, giving little thought to my safety as the inside of the car was blanketed thicker and darker with smoke. Some time later I had a thought: The car is on fire, I should get out. It almost makes me laugh to think how calm I felt. I stumbled out of the car, coughing and fell to the ground. People yelled from across the road if I was alright, but no one approached me for some time.
I didn't hurt, but then I was pretty numb altogether. I had pins and needles everywhere. What stunned me was my car: Accordion-crunched. Demolished. Unsalvageable. I had destroyed the entire front of it and the windshield was smashed. Finally a woman ran up to me and took control by calling the cops, and an ambulance. Over in a field was the car I'd crashed into and I ran in my dress and heels several hundred feet to find her. She was doubled over and moaning. I started apologizing with a fervor I didn't know I possessed, but she just kept saying "You had a stop sign. You had stop sign. You had stop sign," over and over. I was incapable of saying anything coherent and while I knew it was inappropriate and impossible, I wanted to touch her. Hug her. She looked at me with eyes that seemed wounded and wild with emotion.
At that point I lost it. I convulsed and cried hysterically. I don't know how long I was outside for - it felt like only a few minutes, but I think it was closer to an hour. I've never felt that way before. It was as if my brain was literally unplugged. And it seemed that everybody needed something from me. Everyone had questions that I just couldn't answer. Simple things like registration, license, my name, where I was coming from, it all sounded like Greek. I just kept staring at the wreckage of my car, and at the many cars surrounding it. The faces of the people staring back. Whispering in shock. I was overwhelmed with a strange double whammy of denial and awareness: to be for the first time on the inside of an accident, and one that is also your fault, is a feeling like no other.
The face of my friend coming up the road, then holding me - I can't describe it. I had forgotten I called her. I can't describe how much fear was taken away by her sweet, consoling presence being there. The EMT workers strapped me on a backboard, locking my neck and arms in place, and as I laid back, trusting them to lower me to the ground – I saw that same half-moon shining down on me.
The rest of the night was more exhausting than anything else. I'd never been to a hospital and every aspect of it unraveled me. The ambulance ride was almost scarier than the accident. I couldn't move and I felt horribly vulnerable. I suddenly became aware of the fact of that I was freezing cold. I couldn't stop shaking no matter how many blankets they put on me. They kept talking in code and I still felt tingly all over. I heard them tell me I was having Tachycardia (a heart condition when your heart beats up to 300 beats per minute) and to try to relax but I couldn't even feel my heart beating to try and stop it. More than anything I remember feeling immense fear that I had hurt a woman, a stranger, and how badly I didn't know.
I can't say why or how it's possible, but I walked away from my accident last night with not a cut or broken bone. I am wearing a neck brace, but have only some bruises on my breastplate and knees, and some aches and pains on my back and neck. This still strikes me as impossible by all logic and science. My legs should have been crushed. Also, the officer told me if I hadn't put on my seat belt I would've hit my head on the windshield, if not gone completely through it. But strangely, I don't remember putting it on. The woman I hit is ok too – she only suffered whip lash, but if I had hit her a second later, I would've hit her dead on the driver's side, instead of her side wheel, and probably injured her if not killed her.
For a girl like me who prides herself on passion, it seems now, when it would be most appropriate to tell my tale interwoven with the most intensity I've ever experienced in my life, that my gift for poetry escapes me. I don't know how to be eloquent about my car accident. Maybe it's still too real. I just can't describe the feeling of the impact of collision, or the hour of mental fog afterwards. Nor can I describe my gratitude for the complete love I felt with my family at the hospital. And by "complete" I mean that their love is whole and lacking for nothing. I whole-heartedly thank whoever or whatever is up there, looking down, who gave me more time here, who believes I still have more to do, more to see, feel and experience, before I'm called back home. Actually, the words "thank you" feel terribly inadequate. Terribly small and unworthy of the wealth of emotion I feel inside. The swelling tide of gratitude in my heart for being given this second chance, this "close call" and brand new lease on life. It's just all I can manage for now. Maybe someday I'll find a new way to say it.
© 2007 Anj
