Literature

Accident (2005)You all get out of your cars. You are alone in yours, and there are three teenagers in
theirs, an older Camaro in new condition. The accident was your fault, and you walk over to tell them
this. Walking over to their car, which you have ruined, it occurs to you that if the three teenagers are
angry teenagers, this encounter could be very unpleasant. You pulled into an intersection, obstructing
them, and their car hit yours. They have every right to be upset, or livid, or even violence-contemplating.
As you approach, you see that their driver’s side door won’t open. The driver pushes against it, and you
are reminded of scenes where drivers are stuck in submerged cars. Soon they all exit through the
passenger side door and walk around the Camaro, inspecting the damage. None of them is hurt, but the
car is wrecked. “Just bought this today,” the driver says. He is 18, blond, average in all ways. “Today?”
you ask. You are a bad person, you think. You also think: what a dorky car for a teenager to buy in 2005.
“Yeah, today,” he says, then sighs. You tell him that you are sorry. That you are so, so sorry. That it was
your fault and that you will cover all costs. You exchange insurance information, and you find yourself,
minute by minute, ever more thankful that none of these teenagers has punched you, or even made a
remark about your being drunk, which you are not, or being stupid, which you are, often. You become
more friendly with all of them, and you realize that you are much more connected to them, particularly
to the driver, than possible in perhaps any other way. You have done him and his friends harm, in a way,
and you jeopardized their health, and now you are so close you feel like you share a heart. He knows
your name and you know his, and you almost killed him and, because you got so close to doing so but
didn’t, you want to fall on him, weeping, because you are so lonely, so lonely always, and all contact is
contact, and all contact makes us so grateful we want to cry and dance and cry and cry. In a moment of
clarity, you finally understand why boxers, who want so badly to hurt each other, can rest their heads on
the shoulders of their opponents, can lean against one another like tired lovers, so thankful for a
moment of peace.