So I hit a guy with my car. After I parked nearby, I watched as the man started limping over toward me. I felt the stares of every living thing hone in on me like I was naked in a spotlight. I got out of my car, ignoring the horrible park job. Within seconds the man and I reached each other and all I could ask was, “OMG are you OK?” and “I am so sorry, I didn’t even see you!” I was so guilty. I felt so embarrassed. This guy was at least 60 years old. At least.
I proceeded to lead the man to my car where I had a first aid kit. In hindsight I am really proud of myself for (not running) helping this man and also because this was the first real-life scenario since I became first aid certified. I remained calm and collected and sufficiently patched up his wound and assured him that his leg bone was not sticking out of the skin underneath his jeans. As I tended to him, a firetruck, ambulance and two cop cars rolled up into the parking lot. A bystander had also parked at the bank and informed me he assured the authorities that I was a good person and handled the situation very well, despite having caused the accident in the first place. This was slightly relieving in the midst of all the anxiety.
Once the professionals had determined my car received no damage and thoroughly assessed the condition of the victim, I was stuck waiting by my car as an officer processed my legal documents and whatever else they do in their police car for 15 minutes while I tried not to cry in the parking lot. I leaned against my car and watched my surroundings. The crosswalk was located on one of the busiest intersections around, so plenty of cars were driving by, rubbernecking to get a glimpse of the bloody bodies in the parking lot.
Across the street, I noticed a bunch of brightly colored balloons tied together, floating about four feet above the ground. There was little to no wind so the balloons slowly drifted through the air, hovering around as the strings trailed in the grass beneath them. I focused on these balloons for a while, wondering where they came from, who had lost them, where they might end up. Every few minutes I would look away to check on the status of the police offer with my documents, the paramedics loading the man into the ambulance, only to look back for the balloons and lose track of them. But only for a second until I found them again, filled with relief that I could continue to watch them drift.
Finally the officer finished with my documents and sent me on my way. I pulled into the parking lot of a nearby restaurant to call my parents about what happened and when explaining to them how un-serious the whole thing was I felt a whole lot better. Now, I’m not saying you have to hit someone with your car to learn what kind of person you really are, but I am saying that you quickly find out who you are when you hit another human being with your car.
