I drove on US Highway 19, in the far right of three lanes of northbound traffic on a Friday.
Sun through the windshield.
Gungor through the speakers.
Twenty miles to home.
My brain was ready for the weekend. My brain was not ready for the SUV. I saw the underside of it first, while it flipped in the air over the southbound side of the street. I watched it land upside down, its roof crushed like a soda can against concrete. I watched it slide to a stop, across shards of shattered windows.
I at first only furrowed my brow.
The crash happened quicker than my body was willing to process it (in its defense of me, no doubt). I kept driving, and I grabbed for my phone. When I found it, I could see neither the 9 nor the 1 without my reading glasses.
I stopped trying.
I started crying.
And in my rear view mirror, I watched a fire truck follow an ambulance south.
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This post is part of an occasional series of unrelated true stories, called “True Story.” Click here to read all the posts in the series.