It happened one night a few weeks after we moved into our current house. The Man was sleeping before he had to get up from work. Snoochie was finishing up the dishes from dinner. Deedee locked herself in her bedroom, listening to her music, and talking to her friends. I was sitting on the couch with Bobo.
I heard the sound of squealing tires and then a series of loud booms. Startled by the noise, I popped my head out the front door to see what was going on.
A head on collusion in the middle of the road. There was a red sports car and an older white car, Ford Tempo to be exact. Even though not many people live directly near by, the street suddenly seemed like it was full. There was a young guy running around screaming at the top of his lungs. He was furious about the damage to his car. Something about him scared me. I had a bad feeling. I closed the door and called 911.
The operator wanted me to go check on them. I wanted to, but fear kept me pinned inside the confines of my house. I heard a call for help from the wreck site. “Send ambulances… atleast two of them,” I told her.
By this point the commotion had awaken The Man. I quickly explained what had happened. He threw on some shoes, his jacket, grabbed a flash light, and went to go help in whatever way he could.
He didn’t come back up to the house, but the scene grew calmer as the damage unfolded. I put on my shoes and went to try and help in whatever way I could.
When I found The Man, I had to hold back tears. It wasn’t a two car accident. It was three. A car had broken down on the property next to ours. An elderly man was lifting the hood of his car when a red sports car hit him, pushed him into the front of his car, the old man flew out of his shoes into a ditch, and the red sports car flew into the other lane and slammed into an oncoming car.
My husband, who acts like such a bad ass, was THE ONLY PERSON who saw that this poor man had been hit. He lifted him out of the ditch and got him settled near the road while we waited for the ambulance. He talked with him in such a calm, loving manner. He didn’t mention the grotesque broken legs. I ran back up to our house and grabbed a blanket. I brought it to the man. He was shaking so bad.
A teenager came over and checked on the elderly man. He nodded politely. He was shaking so bad. I barely had time to process everything. Finally we heard the sirens getting closer. Police, EMTs, and firemen arrived on scene. They immediately started getting the guy on the stretcher.
The Man and I started to inch back towards the house. That’s when I noticed the sports car was missing. I asked The Man about it. “Hit and run,” he told me. I spewed out some dark thoughts in regards to this driver who couldn’t even stick around while the 2 people he injured were still there. The Man then explained to me that the teenager I saw was the driver of the red car.
In that scary instant of metal clashing, bumper to bumper, glass smashing this kid was more concerned about the damage to his car (damage he caused) than the people that got hurt.
The driver of the tempo was just a guy driving to work. He was trapped in his car after the impact. They had to use the jaws of life to get him out. It took over 2 hours. I remember hearing his wails of pain and torment. I remember how upset he was that they needed to tear his car apart to get him out (he needn’t have worrried… it was already totaled from the accident). The thing I remember the most was that he was alive that night. He died the next day in the hospital.