I was driving on the 10, westbound

heading to work, along with what felt like everyone else in L.A. Traffic had come to a stop for 10-20 seconds or so. It let up and I was about to go when I heard something behind me. I didn’t have time to figure out what it was when I got hit.

“That just happened. That just happened. That just happened.”

I got out of the car and there was late teens/early 20s blonde girl in a Black Nissan behind me. She was approaching hysterical.

“Oh my God! My head really hurts! I’m so sorry! He hit me! He hit me and then I hit you! I’m sorry.”

Behind her were 2 older gentlemen in a champagne-colored Lexus sedan. Neither of them ever got out to speak to her or I.

I called 911. Officer Claveria of the CHP showed up shortly afterwards since there had been another accident just east of us. Things happened pretty quickly after that.

License.
Registration.
Proof of insurance.
What happened?
Firefighters: “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Me: “No, I’m just shaky, but I’m fine.”

A few more minutes. Blonde girl–I never did get her name–was put into a neck brace. Officer Claveria came back over, gave me a Collision Report Form and explained to me what I was to do next. After that, I was free to go.

I got off the freeway to survey the damage. I’d had a quick glance before, immediately after it happened, because the noise was so loud that I thought my entire trunk had been crushed in; but, as it wasn’t and there were more pressing things to do like, pull onto the shoulder, I didn’t really get a good look.

Today, I am sore and tired and thankful to be so.

This could have had such a different ending.

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About J.

A former twentysomething with a head full of curls and heart full of questions wondering: when we get to nirvana, will there be food?
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