Accidents Happen

When my children were nursery school age, I drove them to a half-day program half an hour away. I drove them to school and play-dates and birthday parties; I drove to the Bronx Zoo and the Museum of Natural History.

Despite loud music and louder conversation with them as they learned to talk, I focused too intently on how fast the traffic moved, stalled, and accelerated as everyone made up for lost time.  I tried to stay in the moment and not anticipate an inevitable sudden impact. The anger of people in the cars surrounding me heightened my fear, as did drivers whose idle swerves made me wonder if a day dream had captured them or if perhaps they were watching the world outside their windshield as if it were a movie. I lacked all faith that any driver but me would stop at the light or give the right of way.   

The car stalled at stoplights.  I hopped out and waved jumper cables until someone took pity. Occasionally that someone was a police officer checking out the bottleneck I was causing. Before long we had to admit—the car was dead. We leased a new car and I started driving over roofing nails. For a while, I contended with a flat tire once a month. Or, that’s how I remember it, which of course can’t be true. But even when we bought new radials or whatever, they popped and popped again.

As my children grew, I drove more, even though they took the bus to school. I drove them to soccer and little league practices and games, to swimming lessons at the Y, and music lessons. I drove them to the orthodontist, dance classes, play rehearsals, home from after-school gym, Cub Scouts and Brownies. Terrified of driving or not, I loved driving my children places. They often discussed their feelings more openly when strapped in the back seat. And, I loved my role as they grew up, day after day. But I never relaxed about driving. It posed too many dangers to contemplate.

The day I learned that my son’s saxophone teacher had died of a heart attack, I scraped the car’s right side against the concrete wall of a tunnel. Another time, when I picked him up from basketball, he mentioned that a boy two years ahead of him in school had died from leukemia—I backed into a restraining wall.

Sometimes when I suffered a migraine, exercise helped. If I could get out of bed at all and drive to the gym, the pain would recede after running a mile or two on the treadmill. I usually ran four, and if no one was waiting to use the machine after me, I ran five. While running and sometimes for a few hours afterward, I’d feel no pain.

One winter morning, I ran five miles on the treadmill and the headache receded. I showered and dressed, feeling better, if exhausted. The road home swooped around the reservoir. Mid-curve, I suddenly slammed forward and back. The airbag hadn’t opened, but I’d crashed through the guard rail and was stuck a few feet short of the water. Two men were racing toward me and yelling. One yanked open the door.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. But I can’t get it into reverse.”

They helped me out. I’d collided almost head-on with a white van; my car, the front sinking into cold mud, was obviously beyond repair. As I took this in, one man reassured me. “That’s why they’re called ‘accidents.’”

The man who had driven the van didn’t ask me what happened or what was I thinking. He asked if I were okay and said he was fine. And, boy, were we lucky.

The policeman was tall and thin and so young I doubted if he were twenty-one yet. He put an arm around me. “Are you going to get in trouble?”

I looked up at him, wondering what he meant. “What?”

He copied information from my driver’s license and shrugged. “No fault accident. You won’t get a ticket.”

The tow truck driver dropped me off at home before junking the car.

Comments

[Bosco]

Good things your kids weren't in the car. Do you think it would have happened if they were?

[Kathleen]

Hi Bosoc, Who's to say? I don't think I'd try driving with them in the car while I had a migraine. In the back of my pain-addled mind, I always had a vague intimation that I wasn't quite up to it. Then, too, they were always hyper-alert in the car, at least with me.

[Manictastic]

Wow, lucky you! It seems that people are really nice to come and help you and all.

[Kathleen]

Manictastic, Thanks! Of course, I've realized how lucky I was, but my tendency was always to suspect people were wrong to give me the benefit of the doubt. But maybe it's high time I accepted it gladly. For in truth, I can't know for certain whether I might have avoided that accident or not.

[blue girl]

Thanks for sharing, Kathleen. I'm sorry about your accidents and migraines. And I completely understand your fear. I think all the time what a risk we all take by getting into our cars everyday.

I'm not sure I told you this or not. My dad used to suffer terribly from migraines. And once, he was at the bank making a deposit and a migraine came on and he couldn't figure out how to make out his deposit slip or even how to endorse his check.

I was young at the time and I don't remember asking him if he drove himself home. I'm sure he did, though.

Nice of people to help you like that.

Also! Nice that the policeman thought you were just a kid!

The silver lining?

:)

[blue girl]

Also meant to say...

Kids *do* open up in the car. I love driving blue kid and his friends here and there and everywhere. They talk and joke and kid each other and don't mind that I chime in. It's a more relaxed atmosphere for some reason and it's always a ton of fun.

[Kathleen]

Blue Girl! So good to hear from you. No, I didn't know your dad suffered migraines. Thank goodness you didn't inherit them.
I think the policeman was so young he couldn't tell peoples' age except by clothing and hairstyle. I wasn't dressed for business, my hair was still wet, and he was taller than me.
The silver lining is that I learned never to drive when suffering the slightest trace of a migraine.

[Dan Leo]

And the golden lining is you weren't hurt! This is such a good series you've been doing; as good as anything in the New Yorker.

[blue girl]

Dan Leo's comment is making me feel shallow.

:)

[Kathleen]

Blue Girl, you are anything but shallow! And Dan Leo would be the first to agree. You wield such a deft, natural writer's voice, and your style conveys such a sweet, wry humor, you probably don't realize what a rare and specific talent you have, or how well nurtured it is.
To boot, I confess to bragging to more than one blogger about what a great singer you are. Not that you should feel pressure to post a performance like last year's Christmas song, what with the bake-a-thon and everything else. But why not post that Christmas song again? Your gift to the www: everyone everywhere could benefit from hearing it again. And everyone, except perhaps you and your collaborators, would be newly amazed.

[blue girl]

Well, thank you so much, Kathleen. You are such a sweetie pie. Your kind words above are just so great. I've really been counting my blessings this week. How I've been blessed with such great friends. You and The Hater included.

:)

[music]

What do you mean ?