Driving to work down Canal road with Hanson blaring on the radio; the lyrics of “MMM Bop” ringing through my head. I turned into the S bend like I had done dozens of times doing this drive every morning; why should today be any different?
What happens next is still a blur to this day. I will tell it like I remember it:
I make the left turn into the S bend. In the rear vision mirror I see a car behind me swerving sharply (maybe even slide) into my lane. He’s gunna hit me! I turn my head to get a better look and say out loud “what the fuu!”
Next, I see shattered glass flying at my face… then black.
I awake and am aware of someone leaning in through the driver’s side window. I am still in my seat, but I am very dazed and confused, staring straight ahead through my shattered windscreen into nothingness. The person is talking but I do not understand what they are saying… then black
Now I am seated in the passenger seat with my legs out of the door. My feet are on the median strip. I realise pretty quickly that my car is on the wrong side of that median strip. Someone is asking if I am ok. I say that I am good. I can see lots of blood, but I do not register whose blood it is. I look around and see I am sitting in a battered mess of a car, but I do not know whose car it is. The car is facing the wrong way on the wrong side of the road. Shattered glass is everywhere.
They ask if I know what day it is. I look down and see I am wearing my work shirt. “A week day” I answer. They ask me the month and the year and I get these ones correct after a little time. I assume the person talking was a paramedic, but I cannot be certain.
I see my cousin running across the road from the bus stop; he has just jumped off the bus we catch when we don’t have cars.
Next, he is right beside me. He asks, “what are you doing on the wrong side of the road?” “I don’t know” I answer. “Are you drunk?” he asks. “Shit I hope not!” I reply. My mind starts reeling at the thought of all the trouble I will be in if I am over the limit. I truly have no idea at this point.
My next memory is being asked if I can walk. “Sure I can” is my reply. I get to my feet and try to walk. My ankle gives out and I topple, being grabbed by someone and seated back down. That’s about al l I can remember from the crash site.
My next memory is of being in the hospital lying on a gurney and the ER people asking a lot of questions and prodding and poking me; shining lights in my eyes.
Finally, I am in a bed somewhere in the hospital. I really have no idea where. A big bloke wearing a neck brace and a sling on one arm walks over to me and asks if I am alright. I say I am very groggy, but I think I will be fine. “That bloke just smashed right into you” he tells me. I still have no idea what actually happened to have me end up here.
I think the police arrived at this point and separated us. I remember them telling me they need to get everyone’s story separately and that we shouldn’t be allowed to collude or something like that. I told them I had no idea of what had happened and that I would need the other people’s help piecing everything together.
At this stage I know there are three of us involved; me, the big bloke and another young skinny guy who is lurking around the hospital. Thankfully I had no alcohol I my system.
After this I can’t really remember how it all unfolded; I just remember getting driven home by mum.
Now I will explain the crash as it was pieced back together:
As I turned into the S bend the young skinny bloke was turning behind me in the other lane. Somehow he lost control and smashed into the rear side of my car. The impact forced me over the median strip into oncoming traffic. I was driving a little Nissan Bluebird that was almost entirely rust. The big bloke was driving towards me in a large, sturdy Ford Falcon with a bull bar for extra impact.
We collided head on and my car crumpled like a paper cup. It truly was a miracle that I wasn’t killed. The tiny little space left on the driver’s side of that car would only fit my bony 58kg ass in it. Anyone larger would have been crushed; me, I was bounced around and rattled, but there was no serious harm done.
I sustained a sprained wrist, sprained ankle; some stitches above my left eye and a bunch of broken ribs (thank God for seat belts). I have another blurry memory of someone at the crash site asking if I was wearing a seat belt. I recall looking around at the pulverised wreck and thinking “if I wasn’t I would have flown 100 metres down the road.”
I eventually had the wreckage towed to my house to save on bills and it sat in my driveway as a memento of the serious harm I somehow escaped. Anyone who saw it felt certain that the driver must have been killed. Some relatives were almost brought to tears at the sight of it. I was one lucky son of a bitch that was for sure.
Every time I hear that Hanson song I am reminded of the near fatal crash I was involved in. Miracle or fluke, take your pick; but looking at that crumpled mess of a car you must sense that something was watching over me that fateful morning.
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