Seven Lives Left

For the second time in as many months, I was hit by a car. Neither time was my fault.

This time I was crossing the street, minding my own business at 7:30 last night, when I noticed the "walk" sign flashing. I sped up and took a few half-jogging steps before hearing honking. Turning, I saw a white car bearing down on me, before I was flipped up on top of its hood.

We skidded for about 10--15 feet before the car stopped, at which point I fell off onto the street in front of the car.

As I laid there all I had time to think was "It's going to run me over." As you must know from the fact I'm writing this, it didn't. In fact, I immediately stood up and walked over to the curb. Kind passersby made me sit down, and the distraught owner called 911.

Since I hit my head and had a hurt neck, they put a neck brace on and loaded me up into the ambulence for the short ride to the ER. Luckily, I was able to get through to my best friend Sam, who met me at the hospital.

The whole process, from getting hit to going back to Sam's, took about an hour-and-a-half. Everyone was kind as could be, and I'm going to write a thank-you letter to the kind (and rather cute) doctor.

What's scary is that given a slightly higher speed or worse brakes, or any one of a myriad of small events, I could have suffered from broken bones. Or worse.

I always thought that my life would flash before my eyes and I'd have the opportunity to pray before I died, but my brain was so intent on coping with the physical impact that my last thought could easily have been "Shit, the car's gonna run me over." Scary, that.

My best friend Megan said no, I knew on some level I was going to be fine and that's why I didn't have the flashes of my life the way people do. But my mother tells me that although my guardian angel was taking care of me last night, God's not going to give me many more chances like that.

All I know is, I'm going to look left, then right, then left, then right before I cross a street from here on.