I got into an accident

March 24, 2005 - 8:05 p.m.

On Monday, the pilot and I had driven out to the suburbs in the morning to get new tires put on his Porsche and while we were at the dealer we test drove the new Carrera with a smarmy Italian salesman whose first name was “Milan”. Oy. On the way back into the city my boyfriend let me drive, and it wasn’t the first time I’ve driven his Porsche so he was perfectly confident in my driving skills. We decided to go have lunch at Jinx so I headed right through the downtown expressway exchange from the Eisenhower to the Kennedy, and it was clogged with traffic since it was noon. I’m totally used to this traffic with the 8 lanes and people merging on and off, and I’m calm as a mill pond, minding my own business in the middle lane. I was driving perfectly, because duh, I don’t fuck around with my man’s car. The traffic was very thick, but steady, moving about 40 mph, nearly bumper to bumper.

Out of nowhere, I was blind sided on the driver’s side and it was the scariest shit I’ve ever experienced. Just like a movie, the whole side of the car smashed in, glass shattered, and next to my left shoulder, coming into my car, was the front bumper of an enormous truck, at eye level, pushing us sideways across the Kennedy expressway and I thought it was over. It was extremely loud and I heard tires screeching but it didn’t seem that this truck was slowing down. On my right is my boyfriend in the passenger’s seat, and on my left is the front end of a truck, and I thought we were going to die for sure, because a truck was pushing us sideways right towards the concrete divider and I thought we were going to be crushed. I was screaming and I couldn’t see anything because the air bags went off. My whole body stiffened and I tried to prepare for this truck to smash me into the wall. I just waited for the impact, to feel this truck cut my body in half.

My boyfriend grabbed the wheel but it made no difference because we were completely out of control. My final thoughts were about my mom, and how devastated she would be that I died in a car accident, because it’s always been her worst nightmare that one of her children would die on the road.* Then I thought about how much more she would be upset that she couldn’t show me in a casket because my body was about to be mangled beyond recognition. For a second I thought that both me and my boyfriend were going to die, but then I was thinking that it will probably just be me, since I am right next to the truck. I thought how disappointing it is that I had just started a life with him, and had finally reached that place of happiness and contentedness that I’ve always wanted, and that it was ending so quickly. It made me sad to see our future vanish into thin air. I was thinking all of these things in a calm, methodical way, just how I would imagine the last moments of a person’s life would be.

* Every time I drive anywhere and she knows about it, she says to me, “I’ll be prayin’ for you dear, while you’re driving!” Later, she told me that when she first heard that I had been in an accident, she said aloud, “But Lord, how can this be? I was praying for her!” How sweet.

We came to a stop on the other side of the expressway, 4-6 lanes over and just stopped short of smashing into the concrete wall. I was on the verge of hysteria, and thought that it wasn’t over yet, and that other vehicles were going to hit us so I screamed for him to climb out the passenger door and I climbed over and we got out safe. I was beside myself with upset, shaking, and had tears involuntarily falling out of my eyes. You know when you experience something so shocking and your eyes start crying on their own, before you even have the feeling inside to cry?

There was a burning smell that I thought might be fire but it was probably just burning tires and the airbags. I just stood there in shock and my boyfriend was frantically looking me over, asking if I’m hurt. I had blood on my hands and I didn’t know where it came from, and my boyfriend lifted up my shirt with a look on his face like he expected to find my major organs hanging out of my body. We found some bleeding cuts, but nothing major, and we stood on the side of the highway and just hugged each other.

At some point I got it together and called 911 and the whole cavalry appeared, fire trucks first. Good old fireman, always first to the scene. They were the nicest guys, and began taking care of business that should have been taken care of by the cops, and by ambulances.

We saw that the truck had ended up clear across the highway on the other side. The truck that hit us was the largest U-Haul truck, 20 feet long, with another trailer hitched to the back. He was on my rear left and he tried to pull into our lane and I assume he just didn’t see me since our car was so low to the ground. He just came right over, into the driver’s door, which caused our car to spin and we were in front of his truck, sideways.

We don’t really know what happened. Out of hundreds of cars, across 8 lanes, that saw the whole thing, not a single witness stopped to help us. Our car flew right across 5 lanes, in front of all these people, and when we landed, the damage to the car made it appear that people inside could by dead or seriously hurt, and still no one stopped. They just swerved around us and got on with their busy days. A Chicago cop is one of the cars that swerved around us, and that was immediately after the accident, before any emergency vehicles had arrived. This is the joy of living in a big city. Only one lady ended up stopping for us, and she didn’t even see the accident, just the aftermath. I’ll have to ask my boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure she had Michigan plates on her car so that would explain it.

So we have no witnesses except for the U-haul driver, who never even approached us to see if we were ok. He stayed in his truck until a tow came and took him away, while the pilot and I are standing on the side, looking at him. And the U-haul guy just stared at us as the tow truck drove him away. The cops came and cited him for improper lane change. He’s only 20, and a douche bag that can’t drive a truck, a 30 foot U-haul through downtown Chicago.

Here’s what I think happened, but I’m only speculating, and it makes no sense at all.
I’m the black car, driving normally and surrounded by cars.

The U-haul tries to pull into my lane, striking my driver’s door with his front wheel.

My car spins to the left, and now he is pushing us sideways.

The air bag goes off, and we have no idea what happened here.

How did I get all the way across without hitting any other cars? And how the hell did the U-haul end up on the opposite side? We will never know.

The pilot and I were put into ambulances and taken to the emergency room. It was the real thing, being strapped into a stretcher and my head locked up in a brace. They stuck me with a bunch of needles and hooked me up to an IV and oxygen. They took us to Northwestern Hospital and it was just like ER, and my doctors were HOT. They totally took care of me.

We had x-rays and full exams and IVs and blood work and shit. Outwardly, I look way more fucked up than him, but he has more pain, in his back and chest. I was only wearing a t-shirt in the car, and that’s why I am covered with cuts and bruises, and my arms are swollen like sausages and the seatbelt cut me all across my chest, my boobs, and up my neck. I have cuts on my face from the window glass. The airbag was so forceful it broke the skin on my arms and face. I smashed my knees into the dash and they are messed up. The pilot was wearing a leather jacket and didn’t have any damage from the airbag and seatbelt. He only has one face cut but he can hardly move from chest and back pain. Lord knows if that will be long term damage or not.

Here’s a few pictures of my injuries, which are gross to look at, but not serious.

Have you ever seen a rainbow bruise?

We came home from the hospital and took care of each other and pretty much spent two days sleeping, watching movies, and taking pain killers. I feel so bad about his car, something he worked his entire life for. I totaled my boyfriend’s Porsche! Even though I was not at fault, and the accident would have happened even if he had been driving, I still feel to blame. The irony here is never ending, like the fact that I prided myself on never having been in an accident before, and then for my first accident – I total a Porsche. Why not total my own car, which is worth the same amount of money as the tires he just bought? Why not crash the Carrera I test drove, so that asshole Italian had hurt his back instead? Why did he buy new tires, only to drive on them for 20 minutes and then have them burn off in an accident? Why did I take my coat off for the drive home, which is why I sustained so many injuries?

We went to the junkyard to remove our personal affects from the car, and he had to use a crow bar to get my coat out of the trunk, and then he chiseled the emblem off the hood for a souvenir. That must have been painful for the man, to take a chisel to a vehicle which, only days earlier, had been in mint condition.

Not for a moment has he made me feel bad for wrecking his car. All he says, over and over is, “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.” Not once has he given me the stink eye, or the cold shoulder, or an exasperated sigh, like someone who is secretly pissed off and resentful. I can see in his face that he is sincere when he says the car doesn’t matter. It’s true because we both thought we were going to die. I see the pained look in his eyes when he inspects my cuts and bruises, and how grateful he is that we weren’t injured far worse.

To my beautiful boyfriend, who has never seen this website, but someday probably will: I didn't think I could possibly appreciate you more than I already did, but somehow I do. You are the greatest blessing I’ve ever received, and you are the love of my dreams.

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