Out of the Rubble

I was too young to understand the financial commitment. I was too young for the consequences of this decision, still feeling the invincibility of adolescence. A head-nod from my father told me that the contract in front of me was okay to sign. I was still detaching the umbilical cord at the time but starting to test how far away I could go before it snapped.

I was now the proud owner of my very first car, a used grey Scion with a few poorly-concealed dents from drivers past. After the keys were in my hand, I sat in the driver’s seat and my sister sat beside me. We noticed there were some suspicious, dry leaves in the cup holders and I quickly threw it out the window before my parents walked over. In hindsight, that should have raised a flag about the provenance of this little, beaten-up vehicle.

We kissed our parents goodbye and went to celebrate with a quick bite at the local Mexican food truck. I got my usual, a chicken quesadilla. My sister was sipping on an iced hibiscus tea. This place was the real deal, authentic and cheap. For two broke sisters, this was paradise. It was just me, her, and this new symbol of our freedom. Who knows what adventures this car would take us on?

We were driving back home as the sun was setting. A few scattered raindrops let me know that we left at the right time. I was scared to drive in the rain and in the dark, and here I had to do both on a winding, narrow road paved through some woods. We had barely driven ten minutes out when I noticed the few raindrops turning into a light sprinkle of rain. We came up on this slight hill that dipped to the left as you went over and then right to the next bend, just a few minutes away from the turn onto the main, well-lit road.

It all happened so quickly. The roads were slick, and my tires could not grip them enough. As my car drove over the small hill in the road, it started fishtailing back and forth in its struggle to make the turn. My car went over the hill but failed to make the last bend to the right. Instead, it spun out of control and barreled into the woods on our right side.

Do you know that feeling you get in your stomach when you’re about to go over a hill on a rollercoaster? First, the anticipation bubbles inside you with a nervous excitement, and then your stomach drops as you reach the peak and come roaring down. My stomach twisted and tensed and I could feel my eyes widen helplessly at what was ahead: a thick mess of trees, bushes, and a river not too far off. We were airborne for a terrifying moment, and then I could feel the descent sink my stomach into the ground.

Dropped down and jolted around. Every branch and surface that my car crashed on screamed in my ears and threw pieces of glass around our heads. Fall, bump, crunch, repeat.

The roller coaster had finally ground to a halt. I couldn’t move for a full minute, still processing if I was alive or if this had been my rough passage to the other side. All I could hear for a while was the ringing in my ears. The music from my phone was still playing from the speakers. It was the first thing I heard. I could hear myself asking if my sister was okay before registering if I was even still here. She was in the same state of shock.

The adrenaline finally kicked in. I looked around frantically for my phone to make the music stop. I found it behind my seat and remembered it was our way out of here. I used my phone light to help me find the loose items that had fallen out of our bags and gotten scrambled around the car. I spit tiny pieces of glass out of my mouth, the grains embedded in my hair and in my teeth. My sister looked for her hibiscus tea until she noticed it had been thrown through the shattered sunroof.

The forest was still. I could hear the beeping of my totaled car and my heart pounding in my ears. It felt like I was underwater at times, hearing muffled sounds and clarity only through my screaming thoughts. We carefully walked out of our respective doors, fearing that this crumpled wreckage would ignite at any point. We called our parents: our father was at his home about an hour away and my mother was at an event in the city nearly two hours away. They defied the laws of traffic and physics to make it there not too long after the police did.

The ambulance took a while to arrive since emergency services had trouble finding our location. I gave frustrated directions and coordinates to an operator who seemed to expect a satellite image of our location as we were crawling out of a car crash. They finally figured out where to send an ambulance. I could only shake my head and be grateful I hadn’t crashed in a more remote location. It felt like we would’ve had to walk to the hospital at that point.

The ambulance workers did a very basic check that we didn’t have shards of glass sticking out of our brains or eyeballs and said we “looked fine.” I didn’t argue too much because I was fixated on the potential cost of this ambulance ride. We turned down the ambulance to the hospital as a result. I looked fine because I still had all my limbs and hadn’t knocked my head into incoherence. I ignored a concussion, whiplash damage, and a heavy stress response because I felt I had to be okay if I looked okay enough.

We had crashed on the border of a small town and a medium-sized city. The police on the city side were hardened by their experiences and incapable of mentally separating the criminals they arrested daily with two sisters in pain and distress. They questioned us rudely both separately and together, trying to trick us into saying we had been drunk or something that would’ve made their job easier. Clearly, two young women must only be up to no good, right?

The days, weeks, and months that followed were a blur of pain and attempts to ignore what had happened. The car had rolled into a ditch. Only half the airbags went off, but we were lucky to walk out of there without more than a few scratches. This marked the end of my adolescent invincibility. This marked the beginning of my fear of driving. All it took was a few raindrops in a used car. In a split second, I nearly lost my life. I could’ve never walked again, but I crawled out of that wreck and was strong enough to get behind the wheel again.

The car was totaled, and insurance helped me get another used car. This time, I went for something safer, and that worked for a few years. Since then, I’ve moved away and sold my car to better survive in a city that is much too expensive and stressful to drive in. I haven’t driven in four years now, and at this point, I’m afraid I won’t be able to get behind the wheel again. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my mind sufficiently calm and focused as I’m racing around in a 2-ton death-trap.

My world has gotten a lot smaller as a result. I have to plan any outings in advance so I can secure train tickets and taxis. I feel stuck, but at least I feel free from the anxiety that getting back behind the wheel was giving me. Sometimes I pull up the photos of the totaled mess that the tow truck pulled out of the woods that night and wonder how I ever walked out of there. One day I’ll be able to look at a car and feel something other than gripping anxiety — I have to, for my own sake.

Thanks for this chance to tell my story, @Mavia!