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June 4th, 2004
I was living in Allston, MA, and was walking to get a copy of my apartment key made at a place a few blocks from me. When I approached a crosswalk, I saw a brown sedan waiting to make a left onto a side street. I acknowledged the driver and kept walking. Suddenly, a beat up white pickup truck peeled around the sedan and collided with me, sending me flying about six feet back, hitting my head on a parked car. I braced myself with my hands, and after noticing that I was bleeding a little, I sprang up and started pacing around like a lunatic. Like “no problem here, just a minor set back, off to the key store!” A man came rushing out of a nearby diner to help me, urged me to sit down, and went to talk to the driver of the pickup truck, a man in a dirty tank top in his fifties who just kept repeating over and over “aw geez, man, I just didn’t see ya.” After I had gotten all of his information (which turned out to be 100% fake, by the way), I took a cab to the hospital, because my dad told me I could have internal bleeding when I called to say I was fine. A doctor looked at me, took a few x-rays, and when I told him I felt okay, he said, “well, tomorrow’s going to be a whole lot worse.” And he was right! I was a pathetic mess the next day and I could barely move. Thankfully, no bones were broken, but I still resent that piece of shit who hit a kid with his truck and gave phony insurance info in front of a group of concerned onlookers.
June 4, 2008
I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my little red hatchback. My girlfriend at the time sat next to me. We were parked next to her apartment, as both of her roommates were home. We needed to talk. We had known it for a while, but this was the most proactive we’d been about it. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but as we sat there for the better part of four hours, it was clear what was going on: we were having the longest and most surprisingly amicable breakup conversations in recorded history. Howerver, sometime around hour three, when I thought things were wrapping up, they took a turn. Thus began what felt like the second act of a John Cusack movie. You know, like right around the time he gets all emotional in the rain? Anyway, I’ll spare the details, but it got way ugly, way fast, and it wasn’t ‘til I got home, newly single and devastated, that I noticed it was exactly four years since the last car-related shit sandwich happened to me.
June 4, 2012
Bring it on, asshole. It’s been four years. I went out to a meeting earlier today. I drove on a street. I parked in a garage. I went to the store. I came back. So far, nothing. I’m alive and well and I’m not afraid of you. It’s only seven at night. I’ve got five more hours before I’ve successfully Final Destinationed myself. I don’t need to cheat death, I just need to cheat whatever horrible fate awaits me tonight. I’m not scared. I am older and wiser, and I’m avoiding all manner of confrontation. Also, I’m keeping to the sidewalks for the rest of the day. So fuck you.