That Little Red Jeep

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to get hit by a moving vehicle out of nowhere? I will tell you right now that it’s not fun. Everything happens so fast, then next thing you know you’re shaking off the pain as if it were nothing, riding in an ambulance and getting x-rays done, just for the pain to hit you full force the next day. What bothers me the most is understanding that this whole incident could’ve been avoided – my life would not have been altered for the worst – had one little lady in a little red Jeep been more mindful.

My story starts on a hazy February morning in 2020, right before the lockdown. I was leaving my class at my local community college and headed back to my high school, where I attended as a dual credit student. It was drizzling a bit, and I’d popped open my umbrella to shield me from the rain. I stood at the crosswalk, waiting for my turn. The little symbol of the white man appeared, and I took a step forward.

And then it happened. I’d let out a mere, startled cry as my body – books, umbrella, phone, and all – flew into the air. I remember scrambling to gather my belongings once I came to. The driver who’d hit me came out of her little red Jeep and asked if I was okay. I stood there with her on the side of the road as I called my mother, the ambulance, and the dean of my high school. My knees and elbows were bloody, scraped, and covered in debris and fast-forming bruises, and yet the adrenaline coursing through my body made it feel like the least important thing at the moment.

I listened to her rant about the accident, but to this day, none of what she said makes sense to me. The middle-aged woman told me that she didn’t see me standing at the crosswalk. In the same breath, she said that she’d seen me, in her own words, “walking across very quickly and about to run.” She then stated that the stoplights must be messed up, and in my anxious stupor, she had me record an eight-minute video of a stop light that I later realized had been working just fine.

The ambulance and the police arrived at the same time. I remember being helped into the back of the ambulance and zoomed off to the hospital to check for anything broken. At the hospital, my mother rushed in as my vitals were being checked and pulled me into a big embrace. Both she and the radiologist I’d spoken to later on that evening were relieved yet shocked that I’d managed to not break any bones; I’d gotten away with sprains, bruises, and scars that were bandaged up as I left.

I distinctly recall stepping out of the hospital and having to cross the road to get to my mom’s car. Amidst the bustling rush hour traffic, honking horns, and whipping winds as the cars zipped by, I froze. I froze in the middle of that crosswalk. My knees felt like jelly and my eyes were hot, stinging with tears ready to drop. My mother soon realized it and scooped me up. Although it had been so long since then, the fear has almost immortalized in my mind.

I know that I am not the only one who has a story like this. There are about six million car accidents each year in the United States. Some of the people that share my story are not alive today. And those that are can understand how traumatizing and mentally uprooting such an event can be. But just this once, I’d like you to consider the other side of the story: the woman that hit me.

From what my mother and the dean told me, they’d both arrived much after I had left and joined the police officer and the woman in question at the hit scene. The woman told the three of them the same contradicting story; she “couldn’t see me” but “saw me walking across very quickly.” But what stuck out to me the most was that she’d told the officer she had the “right of way” because she was in a truck and I was merely walking. Of course, all of them immediately told her no, but the fact that someone with that mindset owns a vehicle and is on the road terrifies me.

It made me think, what if someone were there with her on the passenger side to correct her and stop the incident from happening? Was she even watching the road? Had she been under the influence? Or what if – just what if – this entire thing had been motivated and not a mere accident? Had I gone through this entire experience due to her sheer negligence?

It has been two years since that accident and yet I still have not learned to drive out of fear of one day being in the same shoes as the woman that hit me. I still remember that little red Jeep. Part of me is still angry, and yet part of me pities the woman for her ways and what could’ve possibly been going through her head at the time.

My story is not only to educate you on what happens in the event of an accident and what you should do but also on what to do if you find yourself in the opposite pair of shoes. The solution is simple: mindfulness. Do not simply be aware of your surroundings but have a heart for those surroundings as well. Do not drive with reckless abandon, it will come at the expense of others that did not sign up for it.