He Said/She Said

Yesterday morning, on the way home from my holy hour at 6:00 a.m., I witnessed a two-car accident.

It was horrible—not because anyone died, thank God, but because I thought someone had died. One of the cars spun out in front of me and the passenger-side door flew open. As I slowed to a stop behind the sedan, the driver (who appeared to be a man in his mid-20’s) raced around the the car to his passenger and screamed, “Call 9-1-1!”

And then he began to whimper, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Like I said, it was horrible—horrible and surreal and not what you expect on your way home from your holy hour.

I called 9-1-1 and gave the dispatcher the details. Meanwhile, several other cars had pulled over to help, including a woman on her way to work who joined the shaken man at the side of his car. When I finished talking to the dispatcher, I approached them. What would I see on the inside of car? I didn’t know; I was extremely nervous.

(I do not handle the sight of blood very well.)

The passenger was a young woman, also in her early 20’s. She was bruised and shaken up considerably—perhaps in shock—but she was, for the most part, safe and sound.

BIG sigh of relief.

Here’s the thing, though—the moral of this story, as it were. I knew that I needed to talk to the police officer—I wanted to, I was a witness. When I explained to him what I had seen, however—that the man in front of me had had a green light and therefore it was the other car’s fault—the officer looked confused and said, “Really? Because he said that he had run a red light.”

At that point I realized my memory was wrong. What I thought had happened…

…hadn’t.

To be cont.