My car looked very sad, all scrunched up with the doors hanging at weird angles and the front bumper missing. The trooper said every accident people walk away from is a good accident, and I guess it was a good accident. I didn't just walk, I ran.
It might have been the way the engine was hissing and spewing, but all I could think was--"Get out. Get out. Now!" Although--yeah, pragmatic me--first thing I did after I made sure nothing was bleeding or broken was grab my purse and glasses, and make sure I had my registration. Then I got out. The door was stuck and that's probably where I got the bruised knee because I almost ripped it off the hinges on my way out.
After they towed me and my car to the impound yard, I stood there looking. In the soft twilight and drizzle, out on a quiet side street by the river. There was a Burger King bag in the back seat, a couple of napkins--a map book and crow food. An old Krispy Kreme hat from VA and a few packets of salt. Barely forty thousand miles. I rarely drive long distances. New tires, only two thousand miles old. Winter's coming, and I'd thought about chains.
I'd had thoughts the other day, about bumper stickers and paint jobs. Thinking about a nice dusty gray-green. Not many more payments. Only another two years.
I'm grateful I walked away although I'm afraid to lay down. Adrenaline trickles out and pain trickles in. My shoulder hurts, my chest really hurts, and my knee just wants to curl up on a bed, but the great thing about doctors is that they can make you feel lucky. I didn't burn myself on the air bag. I didn't shatter my forearm in eight pieces. I didn't break my nose and cheeks, and I didn't die. I'm most grateful for that.
I might not have a car anymore--the very first one I'd bought on my own in my favorite color with the seat that was just the perfect fit, but I still have things to do and places to go. Maybe later. Right now, I'm going to pop a vicodin and go to sleep.