Of Silver Linings and Car Crashes

At the top of our hill where Red Mill intersects with Tylersville Rd, there is a blind spot on the left. I know it's there. In my van, I sit up high and just wait a moment to be sure no cars pop into view unexpectedly. Unfortuantely, I was not in my van.

I was in Noah's little Camry. I forgot. I looked left, I looked right, I entered the road turning left, and looked left again when: A car! I gunned it to avoid him and he swerved to avoid me, and mostly did, except crunch—my back bumper and wheel well... I went spinning across the road and into the muddy grassy ditch on the side of the road.

I HATE accidents.

I'm sixteen again and freaking out and feeling like a loser and wondering if I can ever drive again without hitting a car and wondering how I'll explain it to everyone and ticked at myself because now I have to start the count again from scratch ("It's been X number of years since my last accident...").

Then the silver lining appeared...

The guy I hit jumped out of the car. "Are you okay, miss? Don't worry about the cars. Really. They are just cars. But are you okay? Okay, then. That's all that matters." His light foreign accent made me smile. He then made a phone call to his job and told his boss that a certain "Hassan" was on his way... which got me thinking...

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Um, Morocco."

"No way. I lived there for four years. Salaamu Alaikum. La bes?"

Disbelief.

I continued.

Then he started laughing and blasted away in Arabic. We talked for a couple of minutes and then he threw his arms around me in a bear hug and said, "I'm so sorry we have to meet under these unfortunate circumstances. Let's not call the police. Everything will be o-kay."

Of course the nosy neighbor had already called the police and it is my fault so I still got cited.

Still I sat in the car with Farid while I got written up and we chatted up a storm about democracy, Iraq, Mohammed, Morocco's king, mint tea, Ourzazate, and Berber. I salted my conversation with every Arabic word I could remember. What a dear guy! Even had a glass of mint tea in his car.

We left the scene amicably, exchanged all our information and were able to drive our cars. We'll try to repair his without insurance. Noah's car looks worse.

I'm okay, but am starting to feel the muscle strain in my back and neck.

One irritating moment. My car was on the side of the road on a wet muddy hill and needed a push to get it onto the road. The police officer yelled to Farid, "Get behind her car and push it so she can get up the hill."

Excuuuuuse me? Why on earth is he ordering around the victim of the crash... and NOT HELPING!? (I am resisting the temptation to call his behavior RACIST!!!)

So I rolled down my window and yelled at the officer. "Hey! Get over here. He needs your help" ya big doofus... I didn't quite say that last bit but I sure did think it.

Farid was the height of graciousness and sympathy (as I remember Moroccans) and I felt so comforted to have run into him and not some business man from West Chester in a new car.

My friend, with whom I was supposed to have breakfast, came to the scene and then came home with me to drink tea and soothe my spirits by recounting her own history of car accidents.

I'm a little shaky but feeling better now.

And I got back on the horse and drove to Meijer's with Johannah... without incident.