A Totaled Miracle
Last night, I was a miracle.
Last night, I was hit by a tractor-trailer going 65 mph on a major highway. Last night, an 18-wheeler merged into my door, hooked my car around the front of its grill, and slingshotted me across three lanes of traffic into a guardrail to rest.
For roughly 11 seconds, my life was a blur of headlights and grinding and screaming to God just to be with me. The sudden realization that my car was perpendicular to the rush of highway lanes. Staring into the grill of a tractor cab as if its teeth would have opened up and swallowed me whole. Being shoveled by a machine so much larger than my own and without the slightest reason, direction, or notice. Finding solace in the resting smash of a tiny metal guardrail.
I didn’t realize that my window shattered across my face and dusted glitter throughout my car. I didn’t realize that my rear wheel blew off and left me sliding along in a shower of sparks. All I knew was it was bright, and deafening, numbing every muscle and organ but my heart. And for 11 seconds, my heart churned with my parents and my sisters and my boyfriend and my best friends. And my heart put these things in a box and for the slightest second, I feared I would never have another chance to open that box and let my love pour all over them once more. For the slightest second, I thought that I was gone.
Last night, I leapt out of my car and fell to my knees to find that I could walk. And I stood up and couldn’t believe that my arms were untouched. And that my ribs still strongly held my body together. And that my stupefied face didn’t catch a single shard of glass. And then I fell into the arms of the people that I love the most.
Last night, I got hit by a truck and walked right out of it. Last night, I totaled my car without even a scratch. Last night, I came to so firmly believe that God is holding me in the palm of his hand and has closed it tight. And now, I’m writing with disbelief that a simple girl could ever be so blessed.
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You’re not nice, honey, you’re bitter.
If you can’t afford to tip. EAT. AT. HOME. In fact don’t eat at all. Go starve and die.
“GET OFF HER HAIR, IDIOT!”
I’m not made of porcelain and I’m not going to break if you use the wrong words or reveal yourself to be a terrible person.