Christmas, a few years ago, my mother injured her back trying to put up the tree. She was taken to hospital, my sister was in respite and so I was home alone. I didn’t much fancy being alone those days so I decided one night to go somewhere. I don’t recall my exact destination, I probably just wanted to get out of the house. At 7pm in December, of course it was dark but I didn’t give it a second thought. I liked the dark, especially outside when the night sidewalk was dotted with street lamps. And then it hit me. Not an idea, or realization, but a truck. It was just that sudden. A quiet, snow caked street, and then a force so strong it knocked me off my feet and sent me flying. I remember the moment so perfectly, I didn’t have a chance to get out of the way, and I didn’t even see the truck until it hit me. I saw the front clip come in contact with my lower body, and then I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was in a pile of dirty snow. The man was standing beside his truck, cursing and asking me repeatedly if I was okay.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said.

I stood up and brushed myself off. He looked astounded. “I’ll call you an ambulance I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m okay.” I picked up my backpack and shamefully limped away.

I’m not sure why I was embarrassed, I mean, he was the one that hit me with a vehicle. It wasn’t until I got to Tim Horton’s that I realized I had apologized to a man who could have killed me. I also realized the amount of pain I was in. I clutched my left side, ordered a tea and sat down. In hateful shock, I didn’t take into account all of the variables. All I could think about was the pain, embarrassment and resentfulness.

“Why me,” I thought, “Why is it always me?”

I wasn’t thinking about how I landed, on my side instead of my leg or arm. I wasn’t thinking about the tight scarf that hugged my neck, or the snow that broke my fall.  If it were not for the snow, I would have been eaten alive by the sharp pavement, I would have rolled instead of slid, and I would’ve hit the curb instead of the dirty pile of snow.

I peered down at my shattered phone and let tears fall as I attempted to call my grandparents.

“You must have an angel on your shoulder,” my grandma smiled.

I scowled, but she was right.