My Luck

This story shares a bit about something that happened in my life that I will never forget.

• Biographies

								
“Work hard. Drive safe.” I leaned in to hug my boyfriend after shutting the fridge. I was about to leave the house to end the first month of my new job. He kissed me on the forehead and after grabbing my lunch box followed me out to my blue ram. I tossed my lunch box over to the passenger side as I jumped into the driver’s seat, it shook, and I heard the apple inside hit the wall of the box with a thud. “Bye. Sorry you have to actually go to work today.” He chuckled. I shut the door. It was the one Friday he was required to work in the office, but it was a normal sight to still see him waving at me in his pajamas as I drove off. I envied that but the twenty-two minute drive required a morning jam session with my coffee and breakfast granola bar. Which I think I forgot…I looked down at the middle seat which folded down acting as a console. I forgot my granola bar. I’d only backed out of the driveway and ran in the house to get it. Ok back to my drive. I scrunch my nose every time I went to go anywhere because even though I loved my pickup and had only owned it for a little over two years the boxes in the backseat full of my house decorations were slowly crumpling, and I’d only hoped each and every time I even slightly peered back there that nothing was broken or shattered. My glasses, plates, mugs, a vase, all of it I loved too much to put in a storage unit and wanted to keep it all close by. But it’s been weeks already since I spontaneously quit my stressful job and the boxes I had chosen to use were nowhere near the quality they were when I first packed them in. Like I said I love all of my belongings and the idea of a nomadic life intrigued me but after weeks of driving back and forth between grandparents and boyfriend’s and job interviews in several different towns it was all becoming an eyesore. I just passed the gas station I usually drive by and was heading out of town. The busy roads in the morning were my new enemy, but the drive was really pretty, and I was just glad I wasn’t going further into the traffic, towards downtown. I tried to be optimistic with that thought and to add to it, I chose to believe the lie that it wouldn’t be so bad once I got closer to the outside of the city and continued to listen to my music. Sipped my coffee, skipped radio stations, sipped my coffee and skipped back to the same station I had already skipped. I passed several farms with grazing horses and lush green trees, like I said, a pretty drive. I was tired of it already though. It adds up. Especially when my boyfriend found every little possible way to keep me around just a little longer, although nothing today was usually my purse he would have to bring me. It wasn’t my fault today though. It was the car in front of me. Through all my thoughts I’d just realized the car in front of me had never driven before and must’ve thought he was on a Sunday drive. “Come on, people move it.” I muttered. I tapped the steering wheel in frustration. We were just turning to get on the bridge that went over the highway, and he still would not speed up. I realized I was a little behind my normal schedule. Usually I was over and at least 0.5 miles down the road by this time of the morning and in my head I thought “I’m gonna be late.” I hadn’t been late before, but my boss would be understanding if I was, so I don’t know why the thought stressed me out so much, but it did. I took out my granola bar to eat like I usually did after I made it over the bridge. I had decided that was a good time to eat it, so I wouldn’t get hungry before lunch. I know it's childish. It worked though. Something I really hated about the drives or the area in general other than the constant traffic or passersby were the narrow roads and this one I was coming up on was the worst of them all. Near a factory. Between a wooded area. I drove up the hill, headlights coming the opposite way blinded me one after another. The line of cars was long. Relaxed and driving with one hand I looked up and realized I was swerving into the other lane. I scared myself. I veered right and went off the edge of the road. I started to panic. For what reason I don’t know there was only grass where I went off. Yet again I veered over, head on with the line of bright headlights. I don’t know my speed. 55? 60? Maybe even higher. I didn’t know what my foot was doing. Am I pressing the gas? Not braking. I was shaking. Not thinking. I just knew I had to get out of the way of the other cars. I could picture it now “Head on collision, all dead at scene” I didn’t want that. Or rather I didn’t want to know I caused that. They were all small cars and had not shot against my pickup. I veered again. This time hitting what felt like bricks next to a drain. I unknowingly tensed up. I just imagined ambulance sirens and one of those melodramas with reporters and lights everywhere. “Driver lost control, body thrown.” Those were my thoughts I was having when I really realized this was happening. I am rolling. Did I go airborne? What did I really hit? I’m not going to know if I survive. I landed upright. My head hit nothing. I felt nothing. My stomach didn’t drop. But my thumb hurt? It must’ve got jammed. I looked to the passenger side. Everything was thrown to the floor. Where was my phone? There’s beeping? And glass everywhere. I looked out my window. Broken. There was a guy. “Are you ok!?” I looked up and saw his car parked just up ahead. He ran towards it. I jumped out of my pickup. Shaking. This really happened. “Wait! Can you help me!?” I thought he was leaving me. He called 911. I stumbled back to my truck. I was alone. I started bawling. I looked around at my things strung all over the grass and the ditch. There was a drain covered in huge stones next to me. I found my phone on the driver’s side floor. The emergency call had been activated. I turned it off. I was fine. It was ok. It really wasn’t. It was a big mess. I called my boss. I called my boyfriend. “What!? Where are you? I’m coming!” I told him not to. There was traffic. I accidentally tapped on my brother’s name as I wanted to call my mom through blurred tears, and so I hung up on him. I’m sure he’d understand after even wondering what and why I was calling so early. “Mom, I rolled my truck.” I choked back sobs. “My whole life was in there, and it's all over the ground. It’s gone!” I could tell I woke her up. She was confused and groggy. I stumbled around looking at everything. My passenger side was dented. My dash smashed in. My driver door was almost crushed. Lucky I’m short. I wasn’t aware my body hurt or was still tense. My mom had lots of questions I could barely respond to over the phone. The ambulance sirens were coming closer and two men appeared from around the other side of my truck. I was on the ground. “Are you ok!?” “Yea I am. But my pickup isn’t.” At that moment I thought back to two weeks ago. I had taken my pickup to the mechanics and could’ve spent a whopping $3000 to be fixed and for what? For this to happen. I knew they could tell I was crying my eyes out, but I was trying to laugh it off. Immediately after the ambulance finally arrived and the police were there, it was exactly as imagined. Minus the reporters. Questions were being asked left and right. Through it all I kept trying to pick it all up. Everything that had spilled out. Whether broke or a survivor. It felt like even though I was just piecing my mess of a life together over the last handful of weeks it was starting to fall apart yet again. Was I okay? I didn’t know. Did I have injuries I didn’t know about? Will I ever drive again? Or will I be scared to death. Do I know what really happened? What was I telling the police about? I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I was even making sense. My words were slurring together. I was warm. And confused. Did I die? Or pass out? I had no answers. No way to know. Because then I woke up. And I was still in bed.
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