Late one winter night in my 4th grade year, my parents picked me up from my friend Hannah's house. It was getting late and my parents had just picked me up on their way to get my mums car from the mechanics. We were going through an intersection right as the light turned red, and we were unable to stop. An overeager driver to our right sailed through the intersection before the light had even turned green on his side, and the two cars collided.
It's hard for me to remember all of the accident, but one of the things I remember most is my mum talking to my dad and then suddenly screaming as a force slammed me to the other side of the car. I also remember the sound of glass shattering and metal crunching, right next to my door, where the biggest impact was. Lots of time is blank for me, so I'm not sure how long I was stuck in the car until the ambulance arrived. When the ambulance finally did arrive I was asked if I could get out of the car, I tried crawling across the seat, I couldn't. The next thing I knew a pair of arms was lifting my through a window and I was being rushed into an ambulance. They handed me a blank and began examining me under the harsh light of the ambulances interior. The only thing that needed to be taken care of immediately was a few stuck pieces of glass, but after removing those they declared that I was safe to ride to the hospital in my aunts car.
The ride to the hospital was mostly silent, except for occasional questions about my condition and if I was doing all right. When we did arrive at the hospital it took 3 hours of our family sitting in the waiting room watching 'To Catch a Predator' before we were examined and declared ready to go. I got to stay home the next day and that seemed a fair enough trade-off in my young mind.
The day after at school I got bragging rights because of my 'war scars' and everyone wrote my cards. Unfortunately most of the well wishes said something along the lines of 'I hope your face gets better!'