My mind usually becomes a cloud of rubbish after a social gathering. Nothing to do with the company, but more to do with my brain and how it works in the now, and my brain was not treating me right as I biked down the street. If you told me it would be possible to be even more furious, I would have rolled my eyes at you. But then I got hit by a car coming out of a parking lot which didn’t see me biking. I screamed at the world, threw my bag to the sidewalk, lifted my bike out of the road because the tires were fucked, and put my shoe back on because it decided to fly off when my shoulder collided with the hood of the car.
But rage really doesn’t let you see the big picture. I didn’t see myself and how wretched I looked. Didn’t see the worry and concern of the man whose car hit me. Didn’t see the two people who came by out of concern to me and saying how this situation should be handled. Didn’t see the circumstance of how fucked it all was. Until the rage faded and allowed me to collect myself, and the shame of how I threatened the driver, lost my transportation, and how very small I truly was came crashing down.
So I began to sob in front of strangers. In the midst of my sobbing the three people present decided to call the police, and an ambulance and firetruck arrived shortly. Not that I needed it or even wanted it, but merely because it was protocol. Didn’t make me feel any less embarrassed or miserable. Was asked a series of questions to see if I was physically and mentally okay. The question on if felt suicidal was actually asked, and I laughed with a grimace. Took a bit of talking to get myself out of that, but the ambulance and firetruck left eventually, only to be replaced by police cars. Three of them in total when it was all said and done.
My information was shared, told my story, and pretty much sat in disgust of myself even when the rain began to fall. In the end I was given a collection of papers with contact information, along with a paper stating I had a court date to rule on the fact I failed to follow a city ordinance: driving on the wrong side of a divided highway. There are no distinctions between cars and bikes, and I stand the chance of getting points upon my driver’s license for this. Rules are rules, and they don’t take too kindly to bikes when they are heading south on a northbound bike lane. Can only guess what the driver’s insurance company is going to think of that. So with that in mind along with the fine I will have to pay for being a bad “driver,” I also have no bicycle to take myself around town.
I began to laugh as I put the papers away. Laughing at myself, my life, and how I let it come to this point, which ended up in a strange case of hysterical sobbing. This lasted for some odd minutes, me lying back in the stone which lined the shrubbery of the parking lot. In the midst of it, two instances of people stopped to ask if I was okay. One was already leaving the parking lot, and I waved them on. The other was the female concerned citizen from earlier. And she would not shut the hell up. All she would talk about was how I could make so much money off of the guy who hit me, even after hearing how the police found me in violation of an ordinance. Not once did she take the time to really be there for me, and I eventually just walked away when I saw her coming back for another go. Just down the block and across the street, was all I really needed because I had nowhere else to go. Home? Why bother. Call a friend? Do I even have a friend? And what acquaintance would even bother?
I eventually gave in and called my roommate, and he thankfully agreed to come round and take me home, but I felt damn shitty about my bike and its parts getting his car seats dirty. After this the same paramedics and fire truck responded to a homeless man just sleeping on the street corner not that far from the accident. Cops questioned and even patted him down, eyeing up the four unopened cans of beer he had in a plastic bag. It felt sick, and I felt the helplessness of that man. No means of control in your life, doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, the world is always going to judge and persecute you. Like salt on a wound that refuses to close.