Car Crash Rollover

I awoke to the sound of thunder rolling across the sky and smiled wide. Waking to thunder is almost as good as falling asleep to it. Dim light radiated from around the curtains that keep my bedroom womb-like after sunrise. It was unusually dark for 8AM. My smile faded realizing that I had to drive down I-45, to the underbelly of Houston at 10AM in heavy rain. I hoped it would stop by then. I needed to get my personal effects from my car, totaled in a wreck.

Seven hours later, I returned home tired and cranky. A headache had landed in my skull like a miscreant raptor in its nest. My left calf hurt. My right hip was sore. There were pains all over my left arm, making me fidget on the arm rest of the rental car to prevent further aggravation. My neck was as stiff as a Catholic school teacher, and when I turned just right, pain stabbed at me like a child to a beached jellyfish. And the green-brown bruise on my left hand looked like something from a zombie movie.

I’ve been in fender-benders before. The worst was in the mid 90s when a car dashed out in front of my father’s car. But this was more than a fender-bender- it was a roll-over.

In danger, so much races through the mind at once that time is suspended, making what happened in a matter of seconds appear to last minutes. I’ve come close to dying several times, so I know all about the flashes of life, when death looks up from whatever he’s doing to check me out. “Don’t mind me Mr. D. I’m not going with you just yet.”

It had been a horrendous week. Hurricane Baryl blew in on Monday knocking out power to over a million Houstonians, including me. It’s July in Texas, so it’s hotter—one of two seasons we have: hot and hotter. I am fortunate to have friends who let me crash in the comfort of their air-conditioned abodes instead of sweltering in mine.

My dear friend Sharon is one who took me in. She invited me, my friend Hayden, and her niece Meagan to an event at the art museum Saturday night. I made tacos from food in my fridge that would have spoiled otherwise. It was going to a swell evening of tacos, art, ritas, and pound cake topped with strawberries with my friends.

On the way home we stopped at St. Thomas University to walk the labyrinth under the watchful eye of the clock tower. Sharon found a penguin-shaped puddle from rain that moved through earlier. The previous night I saw a penguin in the clouds. Such fortune- I should buy lottery tickets.

We left as the tower struck 9:30. I traveled west on Alabama to drive by the old place where Mom and I lived when I was in 1^st grade. Then a left on Kirby to get on the freeway back to Sharon’s. The light at Shepard was still dark from the Beryl power outages, which means it was now a 4-say stop.

At this intersection is the iconic Alabama theater, with its retro sign standing sentry on Shepard. The old theater is now a Trader Joe’s, with their huge letters glowing over the parking lot. Why did the storefronts have power, but the light didn’t? As I came to a stop, I was telling my friends about a burger place a few blocks south that Mom used to love. It was called the Purple Cow.

The cars on Shepard had stopped before taking their turn. Then it was mine. I was almost across the road when suddenly there was a huge crash. My car spun and there was the old Alabama Theater building right in front of me. I registered that we had been hit. Dammit. Now I was going to have deal with some idiot and exchange information. They would blame me for going out of turn. The aggravation of it all.

Then the world tilted sideways. I recognized a strange sensation from only a few weeks ago, when riding roller coasters at Six Flags in Arlington, Texas. As the world continued to turn 90 degrees I looked to my left and saw the pavement coming closer. I could see the pebbles in the pavement and thought of the poem in my poetry book called Pebbles for this very reason.

Suddenly, a pillow appeared. My mind registered that we were hit and now rolling, so the airbags deployed. I’d never seen an airbag up close and knew they could really hurt. I felt the nylon on my cheek, much like an air mattress. It was soft, but also cold from the burst of gas, just like emergency life vests we inflate during our annual training at the airline.

We came to a stop and through the broken windshield all I could see was pavement. I was upside down and felt immense pain in my left hand, almost as if it had been hanging outside as we rolled. Sharon was moving and I knew at least the two of us were alive. From the back seat Hayden and Meagan responded that they were alright.

Up was now down. I saw flashing red and blue lights from the stress ball I keep in the car. It was lying in broken windshield glass above my head- further confirmation that we had flipped. I could also see my sunglasses and Dash, my plush penguin. It was surreal.

I never saw the other car, which struck on the right, rear side of me. Had it hit the front, I would have seen it. I used to hear sonic booms in the Texas Panhandle as a kid. This was worse, like a sonic boom at its source. The stench of accident filled the air- the awful odor of power steering fluid, oil, and rubber on hot car innards.

Sharon began yelling that she needed help and I panicked that she was badly hurt. There were people outside my door and a voice coming from the rear-view mirror. I had forgotten that my car calls when it detects an accident. Someone from outside asked if I was OK. They were trying to open the door, but I didn’t think to unlock it. I shouted for them to help Sharon.

Someone said to shut the engine off. Yes, I could hear it was still running. Why wouldn’t it shut down automatically? I pushed the button, and it kept running. I could still smell burning car. Outside my driver’s window I could see feet. “She needs help on the passenger side,” I yelled again.

My left hand was bloody, hurt bad, and I could barely move it. I began assessing myself internally. The only pain was in my hand. “I’m not hurt, but she needs help on the passenger side.” Why weren’t they helping her? She was still calling out. I could see Hayden slip out the back window. The car was still running. I pushed again. I heard the mirror's voice, but I was too concerned with my passengers, and stopping the engine. Why was it still running? The impact must have messed things up. I tried a long press and looked up at all the broken glass. In hindsight, I realize that it was still in drive.

Sharon’s hand braced against the broken windshield so she could release her seatbelt to get out. Oh, that’s going to hurt later, imagining hundreds of tiny cuts on her hand. The engine cut off and the fumes lessened. I reached behind the white airbag to open the door and people pried it open. “Are you alright?” “Are you hurt?” It looked like a sea of legs standing there, all upside down.

Sharon was now out of the car. I could hear Meagan outside and knew everyone was out. I felt like a captain on a sinking ship. Only after everyone else was safe could I leave. The broken glass scared me. The only way out of the seat was to brace myself on the ground, but there was nothing but a billion pieces of glass, ready to slice me up. I was oddly comfortable suspended in my seatbelt. Was I really upside down?

I wracked my brain how to evacuate without cutting myself. There was too much information coming at me and I couldn’t think, but I didn’t panic. If I could move my left leg up and release the seatbelt I could pivot around. I released the buckle with my right hand. Thank goodness it didn’t hurt as much as my left. I don’t know how I did it, but suddenly the world was right side up once more. There was a woman and two men. One man said to relax, he would lift me. I wanted to do it myself, so I grabbed the cane still in my car from after covid, now lying on the ground, but it was mostly the others who helped me up.

Now that I was standing, I could see the severity of the accident and better assess my pain. I tried to walk but stumbled. My left leg hurt and there was discomfort in my hip. My breathing was shallow and rapid; I was light-headed. With help at each arm I made it to the sidewalk. From there I saw the bottom side of my car, as dark as the night sky above.

The woman who helped me to the curb she was a nurse and asked questions. “I don’t feel any pain except this hand,” I said, showing it to her, with blood coming from the knuckle. Someone mentioned that there was also blood from my right middle finger. It wasn’t flowing much, so I wasn’t too concerned. She continued her questions. “I’m in Houston. We were on our way home. There are 4 of us.” “Follow my fingers with your eyes,” she said. So I did.

Hayden was crouching next to me as if we were just waiting for a bus and assured me he was OK. Meagan was seated to my right and confirmed that she was fine. Sharon was on her feet and well. I felt such relief that they weren’t seriously hurt.

I looked at the car that hit us—a small blue thing. “Did someone check on the other driver?” I asked. “Are they alright?” There was a man in front of me, one of 4 people. “I’m the other driver. I’m alright.” He stepped closer and said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see that light. I’m sorry.” I didn’t want to say ‘that’s alright,’ or ‘anyone could have done it.’ He was at fault, so I responded, “I’m glad you’re OK.” He walked away and that was the last we spoke.

I was breathing like I’d run from St. Thomas University to get there. The nurse was concerned. “Yes, I get winded easily as a result of long covid. No, I’m not nauseous. Yes, I am a bit lightheaded.” I looked at Hayden, “You’re sure you’re alright?” I asked. “Yes.” 

As the police arrived, the sound of the sonic crash kept playing in my head. The sensation of spinning and rolling. The sight of the world revolving and of the ground to my left rushing towards me. The softness of the white plastic pillow. These thoughts rushed through my mind as I looked at my overturned car, my precious Wendy. She is the best car I’ve had. My red Hyundai Santa Fe, with brake-hold feature, a head’s up display, smart cruise control, great speakers, and the main reason for wanting her- the air-conditioned seats, or as my brother calls them, “ball chillers.” I began to cry.

I looked up to see a fire truck coming right at me from the south. It stopped about 10 feet away with its headlights shining on us. A car honked as it tried to maneuver through the intersection. Someone chastised the driver. I didn’t care. Do what you want. We were all safe and alive. I focused on my breathing, wondering how my hand could hurt so much. It occurred to me that I could be going into shock. Does one recognize that in oneself? My car was upside down and I was in shock.

A wrecker arrived, then another fire truck, and finally an ambulance. I looked at my watch. It was nearly 10PM. Gosh, it seemed like midnight. I asked Hayden to take photos of the accident scene. The nurse came forward to let me know she was staying to give a statement to the police- she had been right behind me. I thanked her and asked her name. I think she said Anna. I introduced myself, and that was the last I saw of her.

Meagan was being assessed, saying she had glass in her feet because she had taken her shoes off in the car. I flashed to work when suggesting passengers keep their shoes on for takeoff and landing. Those are the only 2 times you can crash, and you don’t want to run across a burning runway covered by shards of metal in your stocking feet.

My right hand was trembling, with blood on the middle finger. I wanted to stand up but couldn’t, due to pain in my left calf. I was ordered by the EMT to stay seated. When a gurney arrived I wasn’t too proud to get in it. I did so with assistance and very little grace, but felt like a pharaoh once I did. Inside the ambulance I answered questions while they cleaned blood from my hands and head, and gave me an ice pack for my index finger, which was now throbbing.

Meagan came and sat next to me. Sharon had already called a friend for a ride so she could fetch her car to take us home later. Meagan called Hayden to convince him to come with us and get looked at. I could only hear her side of the conversation. He was unsure of where we were; the ambulance had moved. The medic said we were in the parking lot across the street. I asked, “How many ambulances are out here?” Why would he not see the big white box on wheels with flashing lights? After some back and forth I said, “Don’t make me call him. Just get the hell over here,” That made the EMT laugh, who was struggling to take my blood pressure, so I asked, “I AM alive, aren’t I?”

We were told we’d be going to Memorial Hermann, literally down the street from the art museum. During our stay in the ER we saw numerous patients arrive by life flight- the paramedics wearing sharp blue and red jumpsuits with a helicopter patch on the chest. I told one EMT that I was envious of all the flights he got to take. Helicopters were my first aviation love. He replied that it was a nice perk, but the job was really tough.

Hayden took an Uber home around midnight. After an x-ray showed my finger was not broken, we finally left the ER around 4:30 in the morning. I refused the front seat in Sharon’s car. I needed to close my eyes and process the evening. My anxiety caused me to jump out of my skin when going over bumps on the ride home. I was amazed Sharon could even drive.

We were hungry; it had been 10 hours since tacos. As we ate, it dawned on me that no one had asked if I drank alcohol that night. I had a glass of wine at the museum- one of those light pours you get from cash bars. That was at 8PM. I remember it because we went to a lecture at 8:30.

As I pulled the sheet over me on Sharon’s couch, the sun was coming up. The power at my house was restored that morning and I wanted to be with my kitties so bad. Sharon offered to take me home, disallowing me to Uber. She was mothering Meagan and me, so I asked my friend Dee for a ride. With Meagan off to check on Hayden, Sharon finally had time alone to decompress.

Our aches and pains grew worse overnight. Sharon said few people survive a rollover crash such as ours. Had it been a huge pickup, or there been a car in the way, or we not worn our seatbelts… it could have been worse. The guilt of surviving a crash when your friends don’t is not something I ever want to experience.

So I drove the rental car downtown in the rain days later to see my car. It left me speechless. Wendy was scraped and beat up on both sides. I was unable to open my door, and had to crawl through the passenger side to retrieve things from the driver’s side. They lost my prized United Airlines “tulip” license plate frame that I purchased 24 years ago, when I was in Chicago training for my job. I was quite upset.

My hand was busted and bruised, most likely from the airbag. I had a few pieces of glass in my head and was concussed. I felt like I had played a game of mud-football. I may have felt as if I lost that game, but actually I won. We survived a horrific rollover car crash. I may have limped, but we walked away from it. For that, I am most grateful.