Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 02, 2009
Memory
Driving home on A1A tonight, going about 37 in a 35 zone (and being passed by other cars). I was in the left-hand northbound lane. A couple decided it was time to cross, never mind cross-walks; never mind typical human walking speed -vs- accelerating moving vehicle (truck) speed; they were ready to cross so they did.
The way they timed it, they were just fast enough to be out of the right hand lane before those cars caught up, but were not moving nearly fast enough to be out of my way before I reached them. The man noticed this and sped up. The woman noticed this, slowed down and I'm pretty sure dared me not to hit the brakes, which of course I was hitting hard and fast. I couldn't swerve to the right because there were other cars coming. I couldn't swerve to the left because then I would hit the man. All I could do was keep hitting the brake and pray, so that's what I did.
When the woman was less than 3 feet from my front end, I finally moved a finger in reach of the horn and blasted. She turned, glared at me, flipped me the bird, and slowly took the last step needed to keep from becoming a new hood ornament for my truck.
I got myself over to the right as quickly and safely as I could, slowing traffic down as I determined the closest/safest road to turn right onto and get away from any other possible collisions. I pulled onto the edge of someone's front yard, opened my door and vomited on the street, then sat there with the engine running and the emergency flashers flashing while I gathered myself, wiped away tears, tried not to hyperventilate.
You may wonder why I had such a harsh reaction. It's amazing to me how, so many years later, something can trigger a memory that you thought was safely tucked away from ever seeing the light of day, and then be proven oh so wrong.
I was sixteen. I'd barely had my license a month and I wanted to drive to school for chorus practice. My father had a bad feeling about it and tried to talk me out of it, but it didn't work. I have always been pretty stubborn. I drove to school in the twilight time, with a light rain dusting the windshield off and on. I was almost there - I had just pulled out from the stop light and was accelerating up to the speed limit, but hadn't reached it yet. About 100 feet from the driveway to the school, a man ran out into the road, supposedly chasing a dog. I never saw a dog. I never saw the man until sometime in the instant before the hole showed up in my windshield. I found myself stopped in the road looking at the hole and knew something wasn't right, but wasn't really sure what. I pulled into the parking lot and parked the car, but didn't turn it off or turn off the lights. I think someone else did that for me after the police came. There were people around a big pile of something in the road. It was a man and he was clearly hurt pretty badly. I was still confused but things were starting to come together - or apart, as it were.
A lot of questions were asked by the police. A friend of mine who was also coming to the chorus practice, found me and I asked her to go call my parents. They came for me, spoke to the police, arranged to get my car back home (I think my brother actually had to drive it - something I don't think I ever thanked him for), and they brought me home.
The next day my mother brought me in to work with her at the family business. Everything was fine until the insurance adjuster called and started asking me questions. I couldn't answer anything, all I could do was cry. My father took the phone away from me and told the man he should never call again - that the insurance company would have to find someone else to handle my case. He was not going to have me badgered and tortured. The man really was very rude and inconsiderate, and my Dad was once again my John Wayne hero, come to save the day.
The man in the road later sued my insurance company for damages. I still believe it cannot have been my fault - there is evidence to the contrary in the way the dents were positioned on my car. By Virginia's very strict rulings on how guilt would be determined, I would probably have been found not guilty if the insurance company's lawyers had gone to court. But they decided to settle instead. I don't think I mind that much - I believe he was wrong, but he still suffered. If the money he got from the insurance company helped in some small way, I'm glad for him.
But he was wrong and he blamed it on a scared, young, new driver who was full of all the drama and terror of the teen years. It took my family almost four months to convince me to get behind the wheel again.
And obviously I am still not completely over it.
The way they timed it, they were just fast enough to be out of the right hand lane before those cars caught up, but were not moving nearly fast enough to be out of my way before I reached them. The man noticed this and sped up. The woman noticed this, slowed down and I'm pretty sure dared me not to hit the brakes, which of course I was hitting hard and fast. I couldn't swerve to the right because there were other cars coming. I couldn't swerve to the left because then I would hit the man. All I could do was keep hitting the brake and pray, so that's what I did.
When the woman was less than 3 feet from my front end, I finally moved a finger in reach of the horn and blasted. She turned, glared at me, flipped me the bird, and slowly took the last step needed to keep from becoming a new hood ornament for my truck.
I got myself over to the right as quickly and safely as I could, slowing traffic down as I determined the closest/safest road to turn right onto and get away from any other possible collisions. I pulled onto the edge of someone's front yard, opened my door and vomited on the street, then sat there with the engine running and the emergency flashers flashing while I gathered myself, wiped away tears, tried not to hyperventilate.
You may wonder why I had such a harsh reaction. It's amazing to me how, so many years later, something can trigger a memory that you thought was safely tucked away from ever seeing the light of day, and then be proven oh so wrong.
I was sixteen. I'd barely had my license a month and I wanted to drive to school for chorus practice. My father had a bad feeling about it and tried to talk me out of it, but it didn't work. I have always been pretty stubborn. I drove to school in the twilight time, with a light rain dusting the windshield off and on. I was almost there - I had just pulled out from the stop light and was accelerating up to the speed limit, but hadn't reached it yet. About 100 feet from the driveway to the school, a man ran out into the road, supposedly chasing a dog. I never saw a dog. I never saw the man until sometime in the instant before the hole showed up in my windshield. I found myself stopped in the road looking at the hole and knew something wasn't right, but wasn't really sure what. I pulled into the parking lot and parked the car, but didn't turn it off or turn off the lights. I think someone else did that for me after the police came. There were people around a big pile of something in the road. It was a man and he was clearly hurt pretty badly. I was still confused but things were starting to come together - or apart, as it were.
A lot of questions were asked by the police. A friend of mine who was also coming to the chorus practice, found me and I asked her to go call my parents. They came for me, spoke to the police, arranged to get my car back home (I think my brother actually had to drive it - something I don't think I ever thanked him for), and they brought me home.
The next day my mother brought me in to work with her at the family business. Everything was fine until the insurance adjuster called and started asking me questions. I couldn't answer anything, all I could do was cry. My father took the phone away from me and told the man he should never call again - that the insurance company would have to find someone else to handle my case. He was not going to have me badgered and tortured. The man really was very rude and inconsiderate, and my Dad was once again my John Wayne hero, come to save the day.
The man in the road later sued my insurance company for damages. I still believe it cannot have been my fault - there is evidence to the contrary in the way the dents were positioned on my car. By Virginia's very strict rulings on how guilt would be determined, I would probably have been found not guilty if the insurance company's lawyers had gone to court. But they decided to settle instead. I don't think I mind that much - I believe he was wrong, but he still suffered. If the money he got from the insurance company helped in some small way, I'm glad for him.
But he was wrong and he blamed it on a scared, young, new driver who was full of all the drama and terror of the teen years. It took my family almost four months to convince me to get behind the wheel again.
And obviously I am still not completely over it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)