Besides being close to fatal injury or death, my day was absolutely fantastic and interesting.
I spent the day walking around my hometown and hanging out with my friend, *Joe. We exchanged pleasant and stimulating conversation on our walk from the local shopping mall to our old high school. It was about six in the evening and it was a sunny and hot, but not humid, summer day. I wore my school’s white golf cap even though I hated golf and my arms and face were sticky with evaporated perspiration. The back of my red tank top was soaked with sweat, but since I was giving my arms a good tan, I did not mind the moisture much.
Joe and I were across the street from our high school and were waiting for the crosswalk sign to make its transition from the orange palm to the figure of a walking person. We talked some more. It appeared to be that traffic was getting heavier and the intersection that we were standing near was a little busier than usual. A second or two after the crosswalk said it was ok for pedestrians to cross the street, I stepped onto the street while my friend continued to chat behind me. I was several steps away from the curb that I stepped off of when I suddenly heard Joe shout my name in a panic. Instinctively, I turned my head to my left and realized that a silver car that appeared similar to the Toyota Prius was approaching me from the adjacent street behind me (it was making a right turn from that intersection).
The silver car was approximately a foot away from me. I heard the dull, deafening drone of its engine, felt the heat emanating from its frontal vents, and heard the crunching submission of the gravel and pebbles under its tires. The silver Nissan logo flashed in front of my face, dazzling and dominantly gleaming at me.
For a split second, I wondered if I was on the ground yet. At the same time, I was also thinking that there was no escape from the car by dashing away to either my right or left side to evade it; I knew I could not run the distance of more than an arm’s length away from the car approaching me, even though it was not going very fast. There was no way I was going to lie down on the street like Jackie Chan in Rush Hour and hope that the car drives over me without cutting off my nose or running over an arm.
The car was a few inches away from me and everything was moving in slow motion. The car was not going to stop. Instinctively, I leapt onto the middle of the hood and plastered myself there, slamming my sticky arms onto it in hopes that I’d get the driver’s attention and perhaps ride the car for a little while if the driver was too startled to apply the breaks instantaneously. The moment I made physical bodily contact with the car, I felt as though I had been pushed firmly by a warm, curvaceous wall of deadly steel. I had my stomach, chest, the underside of my arms, and my thighs on top of the car. My feet were barely off of the ground; I was awkwardly hanging off of the car from the front. A yell escaped my lips and the car stopped. Stunned, I remember uttering the words, “Holy crap.”
I pulled myself slowly off of the car with the help of my friend who almost carried me bear hug-style back to the sidewalk. Before stepping onto the edge of the sidewalk, I got him to let go of me so that I could walk by myself to the pole with the signal change button. I was quite embarrassed; I felt the eyes of every driver stopped at the intersection on me. Joe was having a fit shouting, “Oh my God! Are you ok? Are you sure you’re ok? Do you have internal bleeding? Did you hurt yourself?” and a plethora of other questions of concern before I could even give him any other answer besides a monotone, “Yeah, I’m ok, but get off the freakin’ street!” Interestingly enough, he tried to take me to the sidewalk, but forgot to get onto it with me.
I carefully looked down at myself, afraid that maybe my neck would fall off from the collision. I was not limping and I was furious— all I wanted to do was cross the street and this car had to get in my way of doing so peacefully. I hoped that the Nissan that hit me drove away and that I’d never see it again. I guess I was so shaken that I wasn’t thinking straight. A large medium-sized silver car parked nearby and it took me a few seconds to recognize this Nissan that hit me. A middle-aged man with gray hair, glasses, and a tie came out of the car, apologizing and asking if I was alright. I should not have angrily told him I was fine and I really should have written down his license plate number and contact information.
The guy took off after a last apology and goodbye. Joe then began to rant about his mother’s horror story of a guy who got hit by a car, seemed fine right afterwards, and then died the next day from internal bleeding. I laughed it off.
“I’m serious, man, check yourself. You might be hurt and not know it. I’ll wait for you outside a bathroom,” said an anxious and concerned Joe.
Dude, I’m totally fine. I don’t feel any pain. Stop freaking out. I should be the one freaking out! But I’m fine.” I replied light-heartedly.
Only when I got home hours later did the, “OH MY GOSHNESS, I just got hit by a car today and survived” thought finally hit me. I found it ironic that I had seriously considered ending my life that morning, and when faced with a life or death situation later that day, I had chosen to live. I’ve never been so grateful to be alive, and by this event, am somewhat inspired to do something useful with my life.