Thing about living just by a bend on an expressway is, ever so often I just stop whatever I’m doing when I hear a loud screeching and I wait for the inevitable bang that follows.
My parents will immediately run to the window and try and make out where the car is, and what happened, and proceed to curse all the trees that might block their view.
I always find myself sitting down and thinking to myself, “I hope they’re alright. I don’t want them to be not alright. I wonder what they were thinking as the car was crashing. Did their life flash before their eyes? I don’t ever want to be in an accident. And I don’t ever want to lose anyone I love in an accident.” And I’ll start to whimper a little and then feel a lump in my throat. And then I’m fine after a while.
Thing about growing up listening to this is, by right, I should be used to it by now. But a car just crashed two minutes ago, and I find I’m still just as affected as when I was six. And I hope I never lose this fear.
Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t drive.