by Adam Godet
On a cold rainy day in December 2014, I was returning home from running errands in my Washington, D.C., neighborhood. Diane Rehm was discussing Russia on NPR. I was thinking about the leftover pizza I was going to eat for lunch before heading into the shop.
Then, at an intersection two blocks from my house, I found myself stopped, pointed 90° in the wrong direction, static coming from the radio, the hat I’d been wearing on the floor of the car, and airbags deployed.
I’d been in an accident. One of us – we both thought the other guy – had run a red light. It was never determined who made the error; both cars were totaled but all humans were, more or less, OK.
The night before the wreck, my wife, Jen, and I had been at a holiday craft show. It was a fun night that ended late. When we got home, rather than unpack the car, I left a large pine box (not that kind) filled with cutting boards in the trunk, along with various other sundries and detritus. While I stood beside my wrinkled Honda Civic waiting for the tow trucks and police to arrive, the rain and temperature both falling, I regretted this moment of laziness. Fortunately, a friend down the street was able to come to the scene with Jen to empty the car before it was towed.
From the August 2017 issue, #233