Accidents Happen

My trip to the GA began with a bus accident. I was taking the night bus to get the shuttle to the airport. Xander had walked me to the stop just a few minutes before, and the bus miraculously arrived right on time. I was riding along and going through my mental checklist and feeling pretty good about everything when I heard a very loud grinding noise. I thought something was wrong with the bus. Then suddenly the noise got louder, the bus veered right, and I saw something large and dark smash into the side of the bus in front of me. The bus veered right again, tipped ever so slightly off its axis, and ground to a halt just before hitting the row of parked cars on the side of the road.

I sat there in shock for several long moments.

So did the bus driver.

"Ça va?" the driver asked eventually. It was kind of a casual question given the situation. We all nodded and muttered "oui," then he rushed off to check on the other driver. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I call 911? In the 3am fog of my brain, my first concern was that I was too shaken up to explain in French what had just happened. (I completely forgot about the fact that emergency workers are bilingual here.) I looked out the window and saw a couple of people walk by on cell phones. They must have called 911. I couldn't decide if I should get off the bus or stay. Would the police come? Would they need witnesses? I was pretty sure the bus driver didn't do anything wrong, but was I certain about that? I couldn't even tell what kind of vehicle hit the bus. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I called Xander. Not that he could do anything to help, but I needed someone to know I'd just been in a bus accident. His advice was to get off the bus. I did. The other vehicle, a grey sedan it turns out, was behind the bus on the wrong side of the road. There was no one in the car, and several people were standing around talking. But the front end was completely smashed. As best I can tell, a driver coming in the opposite direction had swerved onto our side of the road and collided with the bus. I stood there staring for a few more minutes, marveling at how a split-second event can suddenly affect so many lives. Then I slowly walked back to the nearest intersection, called Xander again, and decided to get a taxi.

As I walked around looking for an ATM, I kept thinking this is the point in the movie when the audience realizes I'm not supposed to get on the plane. And when I do get on the plane, and the plane crashes, my husband tearfully explains that I almost didn't go. That I was in a bus accident that morning and nearly missed my flight. The camera zooms in close as he looks down at his wedding ring and says, "If only I'd told her to stay on that bus."

Then I started to notice how dark and quiet it was, and how even though the bad thing for the day had already happened, this would totally be the time I would finally be mugged. I would pleadingly say to the mugger, "But I was just in a bus accident!" And instead of feeling sorry for me, he would give me an extra kick in the gut for speaking English before strutting away with my favorite orange purse.

None of those things happened. Xander brought me money and put me in a taxi. The driver was nice. I made it to the airport and began my 2 1/2 week trek across the eastern United States to visit family. All of them. Pictures coming soon.