In this essay the word “he” is used in a generic sense.

The Fruits of a Rambling Mind

02.11.10

Letting my mind roam freely last night I somehow landed upon thinking about one of my car accidents: the one where I was a victim of a hit and run.

In that accident I was administered the Pitt maneuver and was sent spinning across three lanes of fairly busy Highway 101 traffic, doing 450 degrees and ending up facing the center divide, straddling the left two lanes. I looked to my left and saw the cars coming to me and I thought “I'm going to die. I'm going to die in a few seconds.” But the cars parted around me, like Moses parting the red sea. To cut the story short, it ended up that my car sustained but a dent in the initial contact, but I ended up with a disc damaged in my neck that has caused me a great deal of pain on an off over the subsequent 15 years.

As I mused, I wondered, what would I want of that person if I were to find out who it was? What was he liable for, when it came down to it. He deserved a ticket for reckless driving. Certainly he should be responsible for my medical bills, but as I have health insurance, those bills have not been too taxing, even when taken in full over the years. I could sue him for pain and suffering, because that, at least, is very true. But I search myself and know I'm not litigious. And maybe I'd be ruining his life by winning such a suit; this is more than I think he deserves.

So what does he deserve? What sentence would I pass on him, if I set the laws about such things?

I let my mind wander on the idea for a bit, flashes of ideas considered and rejected too quickly to be recorded in long-term memory. Then it occurred to me; he is probably already suffering the worst punishment I could mete out; possibly a worse one than I would have the heart to bestow intentionally. But he brought it on himself.

His sentence? He must wonder, all his days, what happened after he fled the scene. Oh, he tells himself that it all happened so fast, he didn't really see anything, that by the time he'd recovered from the incredible surprise that must have followed what was probably supposed to be an ordinary lane change, he was already a half a mile down the road. But the fact is, he didn't go back and face it. He will never know if I lived or died. He will never know if I was injured or how badly. He won't think about it every day, but he'll think about it. Not knowing my fate, knowing he is a coward, the nagging guilt, he can't free himself from these. He left not just a little bit of blue paint on my car, but also a small portion of his peace of mind, and that he can never recover.

I say I don't know if I could pass such a sentence on him. Yet at the same time, I don't know if I can forgive him. He could have killed me, and he did not return to face the consequences of his actions. Maybe I could have forgiven him then, if he came back to the scene. I doubt he meant to hurt me. But the callous cowardice? I am angry about that still.

So if he suffers, in this instant it is of his making, and I find myself unsympathetic. If he has found some way of making amends to the world with tireless charity work or something, maybe he's found some peace... but still he wonders.

My doctors told me it would get worse over time, but they seem to have been wrong. My neck doesn't spasm as much or for as long as it used to by a long shot. I wonder if my assailant's doubts have faded at all over time or have gotten worse, like my doctor said my pain would.

It makes me think of a couple of lines from Judy Grahn's Poem A Women is Talking to Death:

Yes I have committed
acts of indecency […] and most of them were
acts of omission. I regret them bitterly.

And I know I am not guiltless of acts of omission.

This is all a reminder to me to bear witness for those who can't speak for themselves and to own up to my own mistakes. Maybe I don't have a ghost as bad as the person who left me for dead (in effect) but I have have “acts of omission” that occasionally haunt me, and I know I'm not alone.

So in the end I learned something about myself and about a way to look at things last night. I thought it interesting enough to share. Forgive me if such things are old hat to you and I've just wasted three minutes of your life. I'll make them up in a waiting room somewhere, I'm sure. ;)

I don't have any more posted essays at this time, but there are a few links to peruse in other arenas if you wish at our home page. Folland Family Site