Rank: New Next Stepper
Joined: 1/9/2007(UTC)
Posts: 1
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“The Accident” ‘It can’t happen to me.’ Isn’t that what we all tell ourselves about anything bad that we see happen to anyone else on the news and in the papers? I know I do. No one ever wants to picture himself or herself in a bad situation, like your house catching on fire or a family member dying. But at some point or another, we all must face things in our lives that we don’t want to deal with. I’ve always been the youngest one in my group of friends, thanks to a late birthday. So needless to say, when my best friend got her license and a beautiful 98’ black Mustang, I was a little envious. But being the optimist that I am, I had to look on the bright side. The bright side was that, being her best friend, I was entitled to be seen cruising around with her in this beautiful black muscle car. And oh was I seen! With the music loud and the windows down, we thought of any excuse to leave the house. Gas, food, school projects, ‘forgetting’ something at another house; all excuses we’d used to leave the house. None of them were ever true and I think her parents knew that, but who could deny two ego-fueled 16 year old girls the right to go out and be seen in such a head-turning automobile? We were both convinced that by just sitting in this miraculous vehicle, we both became more beautiful and attractive to all the poor, non-Mustang driving pedestrians. I remember the morning she got it. It was Christmas morning and I was at home having the dullest and most unsatisfactory Christmas I’d ever experienced. Not because I didn’t get nice gifts from everyone, but because I knew that my best friend was getting the ultimate gift at her house. Soon she drove up to my house to display her prize-winning car. I pretended to be just as happy as she was, but it took serious effort. I went back inside after the ‘tour’ and sulked for the rest of the day at the risk of being perceived as ungrateful and superficial. After all, this day wasn’t about the presents, right? Well forgive me, but when you’re 16 years old, it is all about the presents. But that was alright because, as I said, soon enough a bright side appeared. The day of the accident was very typical. I was driving my mom’s old car that doesn’t, in any way, resemble a Mustang. This posed a problem. I wasn’t as attractive in this car and I wasn’t used to not being noticed when riding by. I had to get back in that car! As I felt my self-esteem lowering, my best friend called, no doubt while driving her black beauty. As always, she was looking for an excuse to leave the house. I was glad to be her reason because that would fix my current problem of utter humiliation as well. I agreed to head home, pack my things, and wait patiently for her to arrive and drive to her house to stay the night. I could have driven myself, but what fun would that have been? If I had done that, then a car would have just merely been a mode of transportation instead of a looks-enhancer. The choice was obvious to anyone with eyes and the option of their mother’s car. She arrived and we took a few precious moments to admire the beauty and point out all of its perfections. Then I threw my bag, a case of Coca-Cola’s, and a frozen pizza for later in her spacious trunk and we went on our way. We drove slowly at first, just to give the kids down the road the good look at the car we both knew they wanted. After our charitable act of the day, we wasted no time putting in one of my coolest CDs, cranking up the stereo, and rolling down the windows for all to see. After we had passed through most of the curvy roads, she suggested that she show me what her ‘baby’ could do. Of course I wanted to experience the speed I knew that car could provide so I agreed excitedly. On the longest, straightest stretch of road we were going to find out here in the country, she gunned it. Have you ever felt the vibrations of a V8 engine working as hard as it can possibly work? I have and it was a heart-racing, blood-pumping thrill. For those few seconds, we both concentrated on the car; the speed, the shaking, the roar of the engine, and, most importantly, the rear-view mirrors for police. It was exciting and I was jealous of her speed machine and that I had nothing to compete with her with. Finally we decided to slow down. For one thing, the straight stretch would soon turn back into the curvy roads we’d endured earlier, and for another thing, there would soon be a stop sign that would put an end to our speeding pleasure, at least for a moment or two. As the roar of the motor decreased and we could once again hear the stereo, I decided that it was imperative to find a good song on the CD to blast at the intersection so we could draw more much needed attention to ourselves. We came to a slow stop at the busy county intersection. Usually it wasn’t busy, but being the intersection that was home to the only gas station for miles, it was bound to be a little crowded at some point in the day. There was a blue car and a white car both waiting to turn left, both perpendicular to us in the intersection and not nearly as eye-catching as our ride. It was okay though, we were used to being the prettiest by now, it just came with the territory. The middle-aged woman driving the blue car waved us on; not to get out of her way though, I’m sure she just wanted us to drive in front of her so she could admire us. Well we couldn’t disappoint her, so we went. Have you ever blacked out? Felt every muscle in your body contract? Spun in such a way that you were disoriented and had no idea where you were, how you got there, and the events that put you there? I have. Frantically, I unbuckled my seatbelt, pushed away the deflated airbag, and tried to piece together what had just taken place. Us in a wreck? That wasn’t possible. Her car was too pretty, we were going too slowly, she hadn’t had it long enough, we were too lucky for something like this to happen. I gathered my thoughts. I turned to her expecting to see blood, guts, and broken bones. When, to my relief and surprise, I didn’t, I calmly asked her if she was okay. She responded, which was a good sign, and said yes. I immediately switched to survival mode and evaluated the scene. I smelled something familiar, like gas, and decided it would be wise to exit the car knowing it would be the last time I sat in that seat ever again. I tried to open the door. It wouldn’t open. I prepared myself to kick out the windshield when my best friend called it to my attention that her door was still operational. We both crawled out and, very disoriented, walked away from the car, which was now in a small area of grass in front or the gas station. She sat on the grass and began to cry, ‘my mom’s going to kill me, I’ll never get another car, what am I going to do?’ For the first time, I looked at the wreckage. We had been in that! I was amazed we were walking. I looked to see who had knocked us out of our perfect orbit and destroyed our dream machine. Parked in the parking lot of the gas station was a big Chevy truck, a new one that was probably very nice looking until it decided to eat the front end off of my friend’s car. Parked right next to the truck was a familiar sight, her front bumper that we had admired not fifteen minutes earlier. It was surreal. I tried to calm her. My job was made easier since she hadn’t unburied her head from her hands yet to examine the wreckage. I tried to calm her by reassuring her that her mother would just be glad to hear we were okay and would forget about the car. I also lied and told her that it wasn’t her fault, even though I was pretty sure it was, and that that idiot in that Chevy would have to pay to have it fixed. Amidst all of the mayhem, I noticed that the little blue car that had been in front of us had also been hit, but not by us and their damage wasn’t as bad. Still, the woman jumped out more hysterically than we had and, following close behind her, was her little four year old boy that had been in the back seat. ‘Where is that bastard in the Chevy?’ she demanded. I pointed hoping that all of her anger would be focused at him and not us, and it was. Soon we were surrounded by people who had witnessed the horrific accident. All asking if we were okay and if we had called our parents; we hadn’t. I, being the only one of us not crying, called both of our parents to deliver the news. Both were relieved to know that we were okay but it didn’t take away from the problem at hand. Eventually she looked at her car. The hood smashed, bumper gone, engine crushed; it looked like a crumpled up piece of paper. There was no way we had been in that car and survived. Reality set in and I took it upon myself to try to get things straight because I knew she was in no state to. I went back to the once-was car and decided that it probably wouldn’t explode on me since it hadn’t yet. I crawled through the only operating door and retrieved my suitcase, coke, and pizza from through the back seat. I took out our purses and all of her belongings. I tried to eject my CD, but the radio didn’t exactly work anymore. I decided that it was probably bad luck anyway and left it alone. Family, friends, and the police all showed up. A few hours later reports had been given, it had been determined that it was her fault for pulling out in front of someone, and we were all mentally exhausted. I still went to spend the night with her if only to comfort her. Neither one of us was hurt badly. I was a little sore and had a burn from the seatbelt across my neck but I considered that a good thing. There was silence for a while and she began to cry for the tenth time that night, but this time, it wasn’t about the car. She cried because she felt guilty, guilty because I had been in the car. She explained to me that if something had happened to me, she would have never been able to forgive herself, even if it was nothing more than a broken bone. She even said she felt guilty about me losing my CD. I had to laugh at the thought of her thinking about my CD instead of her car even though I probably shouldn’t have. I knew that night that we were lucky. I knew that it had been a wakeup call for both of us, that it could happen to us. Before that incident, we had both been invincible. After that incident, we were both brought back down to earth and realized that we were lucky to be alive and to still have good friends like one another. A few more inches, a few miles faster, a few seconds later, and I might not be here to tell you this story. It can happen to you. It happened to me. nealndr@yahoo.com
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