He almost killed me. I
didn’t see him coming.
It
was an ordinary day—at least it felt and seemed that way. The winter solstice brought
with it more daylight hours and the appearance of a false Spring, which
typically shows up around Groundhog Day. Harbingers of the real Spring have
instilled a “life-is-good” feeling in the air.
At
the end of the day, I readily deemed the day anything and everything but…ordinary.
It was one of the most extraordinary days of my life, one ruled and measured by
“inches and seconds.”
Mailing
my grandgirl’s handmade birthday card occupied the #1 item on my to-do list. I
wanted to make certain she received it in time for her big day. The “one who
made me a Nana,” was going to turn twenty-five, a staggering reality. Where did
the time go? How did it pass so quickly? She lives out-of-state, preparing for
a September wedding. I used the photo she sent me of Goose, her new kitty, to create
a one-of-a-kind card. It carried the inscription “Have a Fabulous Birthday” on
the front, and I included “From Goose and Nana” as part of the birthday
greeting. I was anxious and excited for her to receive the special card.
Apparently,
my mailman has been coming early these days. I took the card to the mailbox around
noon, but at 1:30, the still-upright flag on the box indicated he had already
come and gone. The card wouldn’t be picked up until the next day. Should I
walk down to the local mailbox center to mail it? Or should I drive?
I
decided I needed some fresh air and could easily deal with the drizzle of the
day, so I grabbed my umbrella and donned my rain shoes and raincoat. The half-mile
jaunt down to the local strip mall, the location of the mailbox center, doesn’t
take long, around twenty minutes. I walk it regularly, as one of the most
economical grocery stores in the city is situated there as well.
Early
afternoon was a good time of day to walk past the local high school. Around
lunch time and later in the day, it appears as though a dam has broken as
students flood the sidewalks, grocery store, and fast-food places in the
immediate area.
I
couldn’t think of any food items I needed, so skipped a grocery store run and headed
for the mailbox sitting outside the mailbox center and dropped the card in. Mission
accomplished.
Traffic
in this area is almost always hectic. Cars, trucks, buses, and commercial
vehicles pack the roadways. The grocery store, fast-food restaurants, the
nearby high school and middle school, plus an auto parts store, drug store, and
several food trucks create a climate for heavy pedestrian traffic as well. Ramps accessing Beltline Highway, a main
thoroughfare in the city, are a couple of blocks away. Drivers are usually in a
rush. No one ever goes slow.
I
am a creature of habit. Walking to and from the grocery store and mailbox
center, I always cross Barger Drive, a heavily traveled and trafficked
four-lane street, at one specific crosswalk. Walking back home, I approached
the crosswalk for the umpteenth time. The pedestrian traffic signal includes a
voice feature for those who are blind. Pushing the button activates a voice,
which indicates the need to wait—or walk.
I
was the only person at the crosswalk. I pushed the button and began my wait for
the signal to announce I could safely cross. The traffic signals take some time running
through their cycle of controlling multiple lanes of traffic moving in a
variety of directions—stop, go, left turn, right turn, moving forward. As a
pedestrian, it isn’t unusual to wait a while.
The
rain was light, but I kept the umbrella in place, a protection and shield. The
sweatshirt hood and the hood of my raincoat were pulled up on my head as well,
blocking out any side vision. My eyes were focused on the signal on the other
side of the street.
Out
of nowhere, a speeding car careened around me—behind me. Not in front of
me, on the street, but on the sidewalk at my back. The red, medium-sized sedan
was no more than a foot away as it passed. I could have easily reached out and
touched it. In shock, I watched as the driver then slowly drove down the
sidewalk. His reduction in speed may have been the result of damage caused to
his tires and/or wheels when he accelerated over cement obstructions between
the street and sidewalk.
I
stood at the crosswalk, unsure what to do. I don’t remember having a single
conscious thought other than to take a video to share with my children before
the rain washed away the evidence. Those in the flow of traffic following
behind the driver witnessed what had just occurred. The driver had turned left from his
two-lane street and crossed four lanes of stopped traffic. But he was going so
fast, he swung wide—severely, excessively wide.
Several showed their care by slowing down
and asking if I was okay. “Yes. I’m fine.” And I was. I was in one piece. An
older couple was particularly concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I
heard the suggestion as it came out of my mouth, bypassing my mind. “Get his
license plate.” They sped off. I was still standing at the crosswalk when they
circled back around to check on me again. They shared that they were able to
obtain the license plate number and reported it to the authorities. By the time
I called the police they were already pursuing him. When they contacted me two
hours later, they had him in custody. What are the odds?!
The
video I took of the car’s tire tracks in relation to where I was standing is a
telling picture. Often, I stand quite
a distance away from the curb while waiting because cars take that corner fast.
This time, I didn’t. My typical position would have placed me in the direct
line of the vehicle. Thankfully, I did not see him coming. I suspect my
instincts would have been to react. One step back would have been fatal; one
step forward into Barger traffic would have been no better.
My
Idaho daughter called that evening to check in on me. She thought the shock
might be delayed but commented, “I can tell you’re fine, Mom.” As we talked, I
realized how much God spared me. My only memory is the blurb of a red car
sweeping past me. I have no trauma- or nightmare-causing images imbedded in my
mind of a car coming around the corner, heading straight for me. I imagine
those in the cars following him suffered more than I as they witnessed an
accident waiting to happen.
“Inches
and seconds,” she said. Indeed.
I
am pressing charges as the victim of reckless endangerment. When the police
contacted me, telling me they had him in custody, I asked if he had the
bejeebers scared out of him.
“Not really.”
“He
should have,” I responded. Knowing the officer couldn’t really answer, I had to
ask anyway. “Was he under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”
“It
appears…” An answer without answering.
As
I told the police officer, “I am not a victim. I’m safe, sitting here in my
rocking chair. I am pressing charges, though, on behalf of any future,
potential victim.”
It
is better this person is held accountable for his actions now instead of having to deal
with the possible future liability and responsibility of causing very serious,
life-threatening injuries or even a fatality. It may be hard for him, but at
least it isn’t horrible. He might not realize it, but he was granted grace this
time. It is a miracle he didn’t hit me. He could have killed me.
How close can you come to being maimed,
injured, or even killed and come out unscathed? “Inches and seconds.” Being in
the right spot…at the right time. Only God.
And,
as my son said, “Pedestrians and cars don’t end well.”
“To God be the glory, great things He hath done…”
To God Be the Glory, written by Frances J Crosby
(Fanny Crosby) 1875
