I counted backwards
in my head. This cataclysmic event seems to elapse forever, but it only truly lasted a duration of ten seconds. Ten, my breath exhales through my dried pursed lips as
I hear a rubbing noise of screeching tires against the rocky asphalt coming
closer toward me. The smell of burnt rubber permeates the crisp air, masking
the heady scent of fragrant pine. Nine, I jerk the wheel toward the guard rail,
praying that the flimsy piece of metal is strong enough to guide my Cadillac Escalade
away from the mountainous peaks of Mt. Hood, Oregon. Eight, sparks collide
against the passenger window, as the side of my car skids into the guardrail.
The flickering embers grotesquely illuminate the blackness of the evening summer
sky. Seven, I feel the initial impact of the Chevy Tahoe that trailed behind,
colliding into the rear driver’s side.
Six, I careen
sideways, as the impact distorts my equilibrium, bouncing my body like a rag doll against the roof of the car. Five, the blow of the air bag
smashes against my face. It feels as if my head has smashed into a brick wall. I hear the cracking of my nose and the snapping of my left arm. Followed by a
large amount of blood poring out of my nostrils. Four, I hear a quiet crackling
noise, the glass on my driver’s side window shatters; the fragmented glass
viciously stabs my face. The serrated edges penetrate my face like butter.
Three, my car comes to a shrieking halt and, astonishingly, I am absent of
thought. I can’t breathe; I can’t speak. I feel
as if I am in some type of twisted dream. I sit there, not thinking about the
damage to my car or my broken arm, which looks like a swerving snake, or even
my nose. All I think about is how grateful I am to be alive. Two, I just sit
there thinking about everything I’ve done in my life where I had disappointed
someone, and wonder if these people would be satisfied if I had died here. I
feel worthless, that I’m sixteen years old and haven’t done anything with my
life yet. Would I really be missed if I
had passed away? One, I sit in my car motionless; as the blood slowly creeps
down my forehead and gushes out my nose.
Zero, my brain drains out the sporadic noise,
and I am finally left to face my own demons and question my beliefs. My eyes
haze over and my vision begins to blur. Time seems to move slowly as shadowy
figures carry me away to the unknown. Is
this what death is? An IV and several surgeries later, I wake up in a
room surrounded by four white walls, alone, not knowing what is yet to come, but
what I know realized is this: I have to live life to the fullest. If I weren’t
going to do something important, God would have taken my life right there, but
instead I sit within these four white walls with a broken radius, ulna, septum
and a total of 50 stitches all over my body from the broken glass.
It is honestly
really difficult for me to talk about this event, but the importance of it overrides
my hesitations and fear. It has given me this internal light that resides
within my heart, which gives me the courage, hope and will to do something
important in my life and give back to those I have failed in the past. It
inspired a passion within me to prove others wrong and strive toward my dreams.
It’s just pathetic that a car accident had to happen in order for me to realize
that my life is actually worth living.
