There Once Was a Girl

Who ran in front of my car
She waved me forward
She wanted me to hit her

I sat in my car, shocked. She kept waving at me. I just put the car in park and stared at her. I just sat there. I didn’t know what to do. She made eye contact and I knew then, that she would regret her choice (if) when a car hit her. Just before the collision, I knew she would instantly wish she’d stayed on the sidewalk. Before she could make that choice, I wanted to stop her. I put on my hazards and opened my door. Just as I did, a car came peeling around the corner. It was flying and she saw the open opportunity. She ran towards it and I remember closing my eyes and praying they would stop. When I opened them, she was still standing there. And the car was driving in the opposite lane of traffic to go around her. She was crying, sobbing hysterically, screaming. When it came down to it, I could think of nothing to say. I sat there, my door open, watching her. My heart was pounding and in my head, I knew what she was feeling. I’d felt it before. I’d felt the bitterness, the disappointment, the hatred of life itself and I only hoped that within the next few minutes she would realize that her life was worth it.

A car came down a side street and stopped. A man came out the driver side and I saw her pause, and stare. She was crying. All he did was open his arms and suddenly she was holding him, asking why, saying she was sorry, telling him she loved him. I closed my door, turned off my hazards and finally put the car in drive. The next five minutes to the house, I was shaking. I walked inside and sat down. Unable to speak. I had no words for what I’d just seen. They didn’t understand it. I’d seen my fourteen year old self in that street, sobbing uncontrollably and begging every car to just end it all. I sat there on the couch, quietly, and just prayed that she would be alright. I didn’t know this woman but her life had become as valuable to me as my own. I guess it takes a moment like that to show you how important every other person is.

I still think selfishly, I still get upset over little things, I still feel that some people don’t love me. But all I have to do is remind myself of that woman, at 10:13 p.m. on a summer night, bawling in the street, begging me to run her over. I hope she made it through the night and I hope that she has learned to wake up in the morning and be glad for every day of life left.


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