[Short Story] I Have Never Been In a Car Accident (2024)

the first official story i ever wrote. spring of my sophomore year in highschool.

It’s been raining since morning. I can smell the muddy puddles. I can hear the cars driving through them, muting the sound of my stomach growling. I didn’t eat my lunch at school today. I didn’t have much for dinner last night either. There are always so many cars driving all the time. Random people going to random places with their own lives going on. Their own problems. How many people really even get into car accidents? If there are always all of those cars driving all the time, then you’d think that there would be more car accidents than there already are. But I guess there sorta are a lot. 

I always see dashcam videos of people getting into car accidents. But who the hell even has a dashcam in their car? There are definitely more people who don’t have dashcams than people who do. Still, I’ve seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of dashcam videos of horrible crashes.

And then I think about all the accidents nobody ever sees. All the people who got into awful wrecks with no camera recording it. One video I saw was of two guys on motorcycles somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. They were both going fast down this empty road. Then the guy in front suddenly swerved off the side of the road. He flew off the motorcycle and skidded across the rocks. The motorcycle was completely wrecked. 

His friend ran over immediately to help him. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

The man who crashed started crying right away. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t even in pain. He just kept crying.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” the friend kept saying.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just did that, man. I’m so sorry.” And he just kept crying. Not because he got hurt. He was crying because he felt guilty. Because he was overwhelmed. Because his friend bought those motorcycles. Because in one second, he destroyed something expensive and scared the hell out of both of them. That’s the part I remember most. Not even the crash itself. Just the way he cried afterward.

I’ve never been in a car accident. Or a motorcycle accident.

My summer going into 8th grade, I saw a boy. A pretty boy. Not the kind of pretty where I just liked his style, even though I did. He was the real kind of pretty. I liked how he never really smiled and his deep brown eyes. I liked how his hair was kind of wavy, and how it rested on the top of his face. He smelled good. Sorta like moss. Like earthy, fresh, go on a hike, moss. He had weird pubey hair above his lip, but I guess I liked it. It was cute. I think he was a little bit older than me. Not too much, though. He had to have been older than me because he could drive, and I was only fourteen. I wondered if he had ever gotten in any car accidents. We worked together. At a summer camp. So I pretty much got to see him all day, every day, all summer. We didn’t really talk much but when we did it felt like the most natural thing ever, as if we could talk for hours. I mostly saw him at the pool since both of our groups had swim at the same time. I didn’t know how he would feel about me liking him like that. I didn’t ever ask. I didn’t plan on asking. I also didn’t really know how I felt about liking him like that. Maybe that's why I never told him. I still think about him all the time. I don't feel the same way about him as I used to. Not at all. I just always find myself thinking about the situation. I had liked so many people. I had so many crushes. But it just felt sorta wrong to be having those feelings about this boy. Halfway through July, I tried to talk to my friend Mikey about the feelings I was having. That there was a boy. And I think I might have some sorta feelings for him. 

He sounded concerned when I tried to talk to him about it. “Feelings? What kinda feelings?” he said. Mikey was a good friend. He was funny and good-looking, girls liked him, and he always seemed to know just about everything. He had it all figured out. But he was not the right person to come to about this. I wanted to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Even though I had been dreaming of that boy for the past like month and a half. 

“Like crush feelings maybe. The type of thing one would feel about a girl.” I replied.

“Crush feelings?! You're joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking,” said Mikey.

I didn’t know what to say. His response made me feel like someone was throwing one of those heavy medicine balls right on my stomach. Like someone had ripped the cords from my head to my heart. Why would I joke about something like that? What was I supposed to say?

I froze. We both stayed sorta silent for a while. How could I undo this?

I laughed. “Mikey, of course I’m joking. Why would I feel that way about a boy?” I said, ashamed. My chest stung.

“Good. I don’t think I could deal with you being some sort of faggot.” Mikey said back.

The only thing worse than getting shot once is getting shot twice. I’d been shot twice. 

People in my 7th-grade class called each other fags all the time. I’d never really thought too much of it. I’d been called it before. But that time it felt different. That time, it felt like my body was getting ripped apart. It's not like I was gay. I just wanted some sort of help. I was confused. Mikey was a good friend. I really cared about his opinion a lot, and I didn’t want him to think badly of me. The conversation I had with Mikey made me feel awful about the feelings I was having about that boy. I was confused. I was sad. I felt guilty. I felt overwhelmed.

I start to drift off the sidewalk into the road. It feels like one of the cars will almost hit me, but they just splash dirty puddles on my jeans. It's dark out. This road is winding. I’m not surprised the cars can’t really see me. It’s foggy. I can feel their high beams hitting the back of my head as they come around the corner. The cars are loud. I can barely hear the music playing out of my back pocket. I Hate Myself. I’ve never been in a car accident or a motorcycle accident, but if it’s gonna happen, I would hope it happens now. 

Seven months ago, my dad’s friend got into an accident. We heard the news while my dad and I were eating breakfast. We stopped eating. I didn’t really want to eat anyway. He and my dad used to be pretty close. They went to boarding school together in New Jersey. Some school called Peddie. Grubba. I don’t think that Grubba was his birth name. That's just what everyone called him. Grubba. Teachers called him Grubba. On the back of his football jersey it said Grubba. The name he wrote down on his papers was Grubba. At least that’s what my dad told me. They were friends in high school, but I don’t think they stayed in touch. They spent a lot of time together in boarding school. I’ve heard stories about Grubba before. He was a great athlete, funny, good-looking, girls liked him, but my dad said he was a weird guy. He was big into conspiracy theories. He would never wear his shoes. He swore that walking around barefoot connected you to the earth's core and made you a better person or something like that. He tried to be barefoot as often as possible. I’m sure most of his friends thought he was joking. My dad thought he was joking. I would have thought so, too. How could you never wear shoes? 

I think my dad sorta forgot about him until he heard about the car accident that happened. Our eggs had become cold. Grubba was on the highway. He pulled over and got out of his car. And he jumped right in front of a truck. One of those eighteen-wheelers. Died on impact. It was not an accident. When the police got there, and they searched his car, they found that he had taken off his socks and shoes and left them in the car before running into the road. He was barefoot.  I could feel my dad’s head thinking loudly, but all I could hear was quiet. Grubba’s car accident was not an accident.

The rain is soaking through my clothes. The motorcyclist, the boy, Mikey, Grubba, and all of my accidents are squeezing my head. Pressing down on me. I can barely see the cars through the pouring rain.