My Accident This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


   I was at the cinema visiting my fellowemployees, laughing, and talking. It was getting late, so Isaid good-bye to everyone. Outside I saw a guy I barely knew,Dave. He looked upset, so I asked him what waswrong.

He said, "I'm tired and I want to go home,but I can't. I have no money for a cab and my dad won't behome from work until after midnight."

I felt badlyand asked, "Where do you live?"

"About10 minutes away."

I had an hour before I had to behome, so I offered him a ride. If I had known what was goingto happen, I would have left when I had the chance.

Itwas easy to get to Dave's house; three simple turns off NewHempstead Road and we were there. He thanked me and saidgood-bye. I turned around and got to the first street I wassupposed to turn at, but couldn't remember whether to turnright or left and ended up going in the wrong direction. Thatwas a mistake I will never forget.

After I made mythree turns and New Hempstead Road was nowhere in sight, Irealized I had gone the wrong way and knew I had to getdirections. I saw a church with a few cars; I drove up to anelderly couple and asked, "Excuse me, I'm lost. Can youplease tell me how to get to New Hempstead Road?''

Thewoman smiled and told me.

I double-checked thedirections, thanked them and went on my way. I was a nervousbecause it was a little after 8:45 p.m. and I had to be homein 15 minutes. I felt rushed, but if I had known then what Iknow now, I would not have cared about the curfew and wouldhave taken my time.

In front of me was a hill where theroad went to the right. What I didn't know was there was ahuge pothole right before the bend. I was going about 30 milesan hour when I hit it. The car thumped loudly and I heard asnap. After that, I had no control. The car swerved left andright, and I couldn't hold the wheel. The car went up anembankment, hit a tree on the right, skidded to the left, thenflipped over. It all happened in a matter of seconds, but Ican recall every detail. In reaction to the car's flipping, Iput my left hand up to protect my head with such force that itpunched through my window and got stuck. I couldn't doanything but let the car flip right onto it.

That isthe scene that replays in my head in slow motion every time Ithink about the accident. Thank God no other cars were on theroad and no one else was in my car.

I was screaming andcrying at the same time. The pain was excruciating. I took offmy seatbelt and tried to get my hand out from under the car.When I realized I couldn't, I looked outside for help. I sawcars driving by as I screamed, but none stopped. After thefifth car, realizing my screaming was getting me nowhere, Istarted honking the horn.

     ThenI heard a woman say, "I'm here. Help is on its way.You're going to be alright."

I couldn't see her,but I started screaming out information - my name, age, phonenumber, address, that no one else was in the car and I wasfine except that my hand was stuck under the car. I wouldhave been able to walk out of that accident with only a fewbumps and scratches if it weren't for my left hand.

Myhand was going numb and I couldn't cry anymore. I was awakeand talking. There were people everywhere. A paramedic namedJason asked me if I was okay. I had been asked that question ahundred times by then, and I was getting agitated. I startedcursing, telling him I was fine except for the fact that I hada 3,000-pound car on my hand. I was able to move my fingersunder the car, and by doing so, I think I saved myhand.

I kept telling them my hand was going to be fine.I knew that if I could feel my fingers, all they had to do wasget the car off my hand. There was blood and glass everywhereand it seemed like a million people were watching mesuffer.

Finally, the fire trucks arrived and were ableto set up the lift for the car. After what seemed likeforever, my hand was freed, wrapped in a white cloth andplaced across my chest. The paramedics finally got me in anambulance. I was saved. I was going to be alright. I lookeddown at what had been white cloth. It was soaked a deep redwith my blood, and I cried.

It has been ten monthssince the accident. I have had surgery three times andregained about 90-percent use of my hand. I attend therapythree times a week; my therapist does ultra-sound, massages myhand and teaches me different ways to exercise and strengthenit. The only surgery that awaits is plastic surgery.

Ifeel lucky to be alive and to have a hand. It amazes andscares me how quickly I could have died. The car can bereplaced. I have my life and, though limited, I have use of myhand. Everything else is secondary.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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