1986. A hot July night in Memphis. A group of friends, driving nowhere in particular on my 18th birthday. Two cars. I was in Bobby’s, along with John.
We had cut our girlfriends loose after the party. It was time to be guys. Drinking. Mailbox baseball.
John and I sat in the back, hatch up, as Bobby slowly rolled down the back streets. We had a fire extinguisher filled with water, and we were look for dry, unsuspecting pedestrians.
We found one. He was alone. Probably 40 or so. Bobby killed the lights and we rolled up alongside the poor guy, unleashing a long, steady stream of surprise, soaking him head to toe.
Bobby floored it as we watched our victim bend down and make a throwing motion. Within a few seconds, our car was rolling over and over.
As it turns out, that man had thrown a brick at our car, striking Bobby in the head. He hit a telephone pole guide wire, which upended our compact, sending that hatchback down on our heads again and again as we continued to roll.
The silence.
The gasp for air. I awoke to find John walking around aimlessly, bleeding from the head. My leg was cut to the bone, and I could feel a steady flow of blood running from my temple down my face.
We had to drag Bobby from under the upside down car.
John ran into the night, concussed. Bobby and I waited for the ambulance, and were taken to the ER for our injuries.
My plan that summer was to finish out my senior year of high school, living with my sisters, since my father had taken a new job in DC.
But, that accident changed everything.
I was yanked out of Memphis before my injuries could heal, put in a boarding school in Maryland, left to redesign my life from scratch.
I wandered, in all directions, looking for anyone, anything, that could make me feel complete again. It was nearly 20 years of empty relationships, failed friendships, fueled by empty promises and too much faith in others. The kind of faith I had in my friends, my girlfriend, back in Memphis. 18, Baltimore. 21. 24. New York. 27. 30. 32. 34. 35 . . . and then, 37.
I had started a new job in downtown DC. An association. I wasn’t a week in when my boss said, “We’re going to meet with a couple of others about getting a book published. Don’t let them dump it on you.”
As it turns out, my partner on the project, Dorris, later suggested that she had been told by her supervisor to get me to handle it.
We completed the project.
Months later, when she submitted her resignation, I decided I would ask her out despite my being 13 years older. She said yes, and four years later, when I asked her to marry me, she said yes again.
I think back to that accident. Was it one?
