Do Better by Rachel Ricketts

Author:Rachel Ricketts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

RING THE ALARM

Nothing will work unless you do.

—MAYA ANGELOU

ELEVEN

Impact over Intention

My experiences, my hum[x]nity and my life will never be negotiated on the altar of evil cloaked as inane intellectualism.

—ENWONGO C. CLEOPAS

It was a gray October day just a few weeks after I had left my life and livelihood as a corporate attorney behind. It wasn’t raining, but the air was moist, as it often is given Vancouver’s lengthy coastal shore. I was rushing. Off to some meeting or other in a hurried state, and I opted to take a car share in one of those cute and compact Smart cars. I held the membership card to the vehicle dash, waited for the car doors to unlock, and away I went.

Less than ten minutes into my drive I found myself at a red light on Main Street. I looked into my rearview mirror and I saw an SUV barreling down the road directly behind me. I could tell it was going fast. Too fast. It wasn’t going to stop before it reached me. With only seconds to spare I thought about swerving my little hunk of metal into the lane on my left to avoid a collision, but there wasn’t time. I sat still, powerless, and braced for impact. There was a single moment of silence before my world turned into a two-car orchestra of metal on metal and the sound of my own screams. When the screeching finally ceased, I looked over to the sidewalk and saw people stopped and staring. A man had come out of his shop to locate the source of all the noise. It was, at least in part, me.

I moved the compact car to the side of the road as the man who had hit me did the same. Then, I sat in shock. What just happened? Why did it happen? Did I do something wrong?

One of the women on the sidewalk came to my car door. She asked if I was okay and, as I was apt to do, I responded “yes” before checking in with the truth of my reply. She gave me her information to use as a witness statement before she went on her way to resume her run. The driver of the other vehicle, a middle-aged white man whom I’ll call Sir Speedy, came out of his car and immediately apologized.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” he said. He could tell that I was not.

Sir Speedy saw my tears as I emerged from the driver’s seat and gave me a hug, which I found oddly comforting given he was a random white man who’d just caused me bodily harm. He said he had been reaching for something in his glove compartment and wasn’t paying attention. No shit, I thought. I leaned back, still in shock. We exchanged information, as you do in these kinds of situations, and Sir Speedy went on his way.

Though I was grateful to have walked away from an accident that could have been much worse, I was scared and shaken up.

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