Me VS. Hyundai

Hyundai Wins

My first step-dad (Charlie, not Pooger) seemed to take my intelligence as an outright insult.
"For someone that's so goddamned smart, you sure are retarded. You don't have an ounce of common sense."
While that is an assy thing to say to a 10 year old, I guess he had a point. I didn't know the proper way to cross the street. I'd never had to cross the street without a parent, no one ever covered street crossing safety with me,and I never put much thought into it. I preferred to think about ancient China and detectives that could solve the insolvable. I love detectives.

I entered junior high, and I had to walk to school for the first time. My neighbor, Brandy, was entering her second year. She agreed to let me walk to school with her. When we reached Main Street, a busy five-lane road, Brandy looked at me.
"This street is hard to cross. The best way to do it is look both ways real fast, and take off running."
That's how we crossed, every day for four months.

The day of my accident was not a good one. Brandy and I were fighting, and she told me I'd be walking home alone. I had the sniffles. I was excited about wearing my new white jeans (just out of layaway), but I got a grass stain on the knee during PE. At lunch, we discussed broken bones.
"I've never broken a bone in my life," I said.
Tina, a friend that I didn't even like, replied.
"You will. Everyone breaks at least one bone."
Tina's big mouth pissed me off, so I stormed out to the courtyard.

In English class, we were diagramming sentences. I fucking hate diagramming sentences. While my teacher was lecturing about adverbs and their proper placement, I sneezed and farted at the same time.
Tina yelled "Rebel farted," in order to ensure my embarrassment.
The remembered shame of this moment still causes my face to blush, seventeen years later.

When the school day was done, I was ready to go home. I remembered my solo walk, and filled with dread.
I approached Main Street cautiously, overwhelmed by the volume of the traffic. After several minutes, I saw my chance, looked both ways, and took off running.
Sadly, for everyone involved, I did not see the bright red Hyundai hurtling towards me. The fender hit my shin, snapping the bones. I was thrown onto the hood, where the back of my head was formally introduced to the windshield. When the driver stopped, I was rudely thrown into the street.

Everything got brighter. The only sound I remember for several minutes was my ragged breathing and my gutteral cries of "Mommy".
That's right. I was 12 and crying for my mommy. When I realized that she wasn't coming, I looked around, desperate for another source of help.
I had been hit on the corner in front of the funeral home. When I looked up to see people rushing from the building, I thought, "Oh god, I died and they're coming to get my body."

The teen driver jumped out of his car, removed his leather bomber jacket (thanks Top Gun), and stretched it across his arms. Using this improvised sling, he scooped me up from the street, one arm behind my head, the other behind my knees. When he lifted me, my leg bent at the break. My jagged femur broke through the skin.
I pissed all over him.

He layed me on the sidewalk to wait for the ambulance. I kept saying,
"I'm sorry I peed on you." He paced circles around me.
When the ambulance arrived, I was surrounded by EMT's.
"What's your name honey?"
"Rebel Star. I peed on that guy. I'm so sorry."
"No need to worry about that. Rebel, we're gonna cut your pants off so we can look at your leg."
"These are my favorite pants. Don't cut them. Did I break that guy's car? I peed on him."