Home was never a big, elaborate city with skyscrapers and busy roads. For me, home was a small town in central Virginia called Mechanicsville. Driving through here always gave me the homiest of feelings and in some way, made me feel safe. Every weekend was usually the same — driving to a neighboring county and sitting on the tailgates of jacked-up trucks in a parking lot. We always have big plans, but they fall through. Nothing too "exciting" happens around here, and when it does, it's talked about the next Sunday morning at church. The Friday night of September 30th, 2016 wasn't much different. We all rode up to the "Fas Mart" in King William County and decided to go drive around, as the rain had ruined our tailgating tradition.

After driving around most of the state of Virginia, the boys dropped me off at my car and I was on my way. Being a 17-year-old girl who's "too cool" for most things, I rarely wore my seat belt (stupid right). I went to pick my wallet up off of my passenger seat and instead knocked it onto the floor. When I picked it up, I realized that it had been open, and remaining on the floor was a few pennies and dimes, but more importantly, two pictures that traveled with me everywhere I went. In there, I keep the pictures of an old friend, and the best friend. In other words, Dylan Ballard and my 15-year-old brother, Brendan. I quickly picked them up, put them back in my wallet and turned my car on. I thought to myself for a second, and made the life-saving decision to buckle up. I don't care if you are a Christian, Jewish, Black, White, blue or green, guardian angels are real, and if you don't believe me, just wait. While pulling out of the parking lot, I got a call from a friend of mine, so I answered, put it on speaker, set it on my center console and began to talk away. I sped down the road and turned on a backroad that was a short-cut. It had rained for days here; I mean, I thought we were preparing for Noah's Ark to come to town.

The roads were slick so I slowed down a little bit on the windy roads. Ten minutes out from my house, I approached a curve that I hated to go around. With my luck, I saw a fox and panicked. I jerked my wheel (yes, exactly what they tell you not to do), and at the same time, slammed on my brakes going into that stubborn curve. Before I knew it, I had blacked out. I do not remember any of the accident itself, but I do remember the noise my car made while on its side, skidding down the road. This was a noise that would haunt me for weeks. I awoke and was confused as to what had just happened. My car was on its side and I could only see straight ahead of me out of the windshield. I began to scream for help, but couldn't see if anyone was there. I heard a voice.

"What happened?"

"Why are you yelling help?"

I thought to myself for a second, and came to the conclusion that I must be dead. I mean if someone is outside my car asking what is wrong, I'm clearly dead, this was it. I then heard his voice say my name, "Hannah, are you okay?" I then looked around my car for my phone, which was wedged in between the dashboard and the windshield. "You idiot," I thought to myself, the phone. Before I knew it, a woman stood at the scene and was on the phone with 911. She crouched down and talked to me through my windshield, trying her hardest to keep me calm. A few seconds later, she started screaming and I heard brakes coming from behind me. Two different cars stopped and ran over to help. Luckily, they were both guys who were able to keep my teetering car still. They held my passenger door open and began to talk. I looked up and saw a familiar face. A friend of mine, Jack, came up on the scene and was able to call my parents. A few moments of excruciating pain went by, and I heard the sirens coming down the road. The firefighters rushed up to the car, stabilized it, and asked if I was okay. They handed me a blanket to cover myself with, and cut my windshield out. Just as they were doing this, my parents came. I remember making the most heartbreaking eye contact with them. I mean, this is every parent's worst nightmare. The first responders pulled me out, put me on a backboard and I was on my way to MCV. a hospital nearby. When I got to the trauma center, it was a full-fledged episode of Grey's Anatomy. Heartbreakingly, they cut off my volleyball uniform and everything. Soon enough, they began all kinds of tests and X-rays for what felt like hours. They came back and told us that I had broken my pelvis in three places, and broken three ribs. If you're thinking this is bad, it's not. I was lucky.

In the days following, I was overwhelmed with the out-pour of love and compassion from so many people in Mechanicsville. I received an unbelievable influx of texts, calls and visits. People I didn't even know were messaging me. People I hadn't talked to in years were calling me. I had always wondered what would happen if I got hurt: who would care? I finally knew, so many people did. People I threw to the side. People who hurt me, or who I hurt. People who once knew everything about me, but now I don't even see. Small towns have reputations of being loving and open-hearted, and I honestly rarely saw that side of mine. That night though, I did. That night, I realized how big small town hearts could really be.