This is about my first car crash. It isn't important at all. It has had no bearing on my life whatsoever, but it's been on my mind recently for some reason. The only thing I carry with me from it is the opinion that Buicks are the toughest fucking cars ever made, something that has been pounded into my head since birth by my grandfather and uncles. So I guess it's appropriate that the event that affirmed this opinion occurred while my grandfather was behind the wheel. This is probably the most vivid memory I had before turning ten, so here goes:
We were driving on the east side of Columbus, because my grandfather has always owned a lot of property out there and liked taking me on business with him (actually, he still does). We were driving in his station wagon, a late 80s or early 90s model Buick. I think we were in the right lane, along a strip mall. Even at five or six years old, it looked desolate to me. Sun bleached and vast. And then, impact. Out of nowhere, it was the greatest shockwave I had ever felt. I was thrown across the front seat, into my grandfather. And time froze. My head hit him halfway up his upper arm. I felt the weave of his sweater pressed into my face, the sharp scent of his cologne. This could have been a photograph. This is the moment frozen in my head. These are details I will never forget. The car, the lurch to the left, my grandfather's knuckles on the wheel, my trajectory. A sound that is indescribable. A wall of steel and plastic and noise. And everything fell away.
I slumped back to my side, we pulled over and got out. A woman in a pickup truck had t-boned us coming out of a parking lot. She was crying, she thought she had killed me. I guess I was the last thing she saw before our car disappeared into her engine block. I was shaking, and I couldn't figure out why. I wasn't scared. I was confused more than anything. The woman was hugging me and looking at me until my grandfather finally got her attention. People gathered, asked if we needed an ambulance. This is where my memories stop. Everything after this point is fuzzy.
I remember the passenger side door on our car was so fucked it couldn't open, the mirror on it was shattered and dangling. There were creases, dents in the dark blue paint. We had to drive it around the rest of the day, which was okay since it still ran fine. Whenever we parked the entire day, I felt like that car was a badge of honor, a combat wound. Proof that we survived. That was it. I was sad when my grandfather sold the car a few months later. He worked at a dealership, I think it ended up as a refurb. All-in-all, pretty unimportant, but yeah. There's my first car crash. Take from it what you will.
