I can still feel the impact. I can still taste the powder from the airbag in my mouth. I can still recall sitting there for a moment, stunned, watching the bright green coolant pour out from the underside of my newly-mangled Chevy Cavalier, and out into the middle of the intersection. I still remember throwing my hands up and admitting guilt to the police once they got there, which is something I was later told you should never do, even if it’s true.
Seven years ago this week, I narrowly escaped a collision that could have ended my life, or someone else’s, or that at the very least could have changed either or both forever. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon on Labor Day Weekend, and I was travelling from work to see my girlfriend at the time, at her new apartment. I hadn’t seen the place yet, and that night, I never made it inside. Continue reading