Can it Be...? by Cassidy Shay (the snowy day read aloud .TXT) 📕

On my twelfth birthday, I was in a roll-over car crash with my mom on our way down the mountain from Garden Valley, Idaho, heading to Boise, Idaho. This experience has changed my life, and still affects me today. Even looking at a Dodge Caliber, the car that my mom had been driving, brings back the memory of that day, and I have to relive the most terrifying moments of my life. About a year and a half after the wreck, I discovered my way to cope. The following is one of the many pieces I've written about my experiences.

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I see the car, and I have to wonder. Can it be? I know deep down that it is, but I try to make myself believe otherwise. The insignia on the hood comes into view, making it clear that it’s a Dodge. I have to wait to get the side view before I know for sure. The car turns, and it’s enough to confirm everything. The curve of the top, the shape of the windows, it’s all there.
I blink, and the back of the car is smashed in. It’s not the real car, but the one from my memory. The windows, all except one, are blown out. Dents, dirt, and scratches cover the rest of the car. The airbags are out, the mirrors dangling or missing. The beautiful black exterior now looks like an old soda can.
When I blink again, I’m back to seeing reality, not what I saw that day. But I don’t see the passengers. Instead, I see a twelve-year-old girl in the back seat and a mother in the front, the two passengers from the cold, February day that I remember. They are going into town, ready to have a good time, not expecting what’s really coming.
They’re in the inside lane, switching to the outside. It’s a big truck, too big to be able to see the black Dodge Caliber. The mom panics and tries to move out of the way. She loses control of the light vehicle, and they roll.
Now I’m back inside the car after two years. There’s no sound at all, just the thump, thump, thump of the top, bottom, and sides hitting the ground. I feel everything- the seatbelt digging into my neck and waist, my side slamming into the door. Rocks, dirt, shoes, and grass hit me as I fly through the air. Thump, thump, seatbelt side. Thump, thump, seatbelt, side.

I try to look out the broken windshield, but that just makes me dizzy.
Everything is spinning, turning, rolling at such a high speed that it’s not possible to take in everything, yet everything is rolling, turning, spinning so slowly that you can’t help but take in every single, tiny, miniscule detail. Confusion and terror take over, and I can’t do anything. All I can do is look out the hole where the windshield used to be, praying for an end to come soon.
Thump, thump, seatbelt, side. Thump, thump, seatbelt, side.

How much longer? How long has it already been? How much farther? Will I be okay? Will Mom be okay? Will I walk away, or be carried away on a stretcher? Questions run through my head, and I can’t find a way to stop them.
Finally, with one last thump, thump, seatbelt, side,

the car comes to a stop. Not on its sides, not on the top. Right side up, on all four wheels. I try to get out. Why isn’t the door opening? I start to panic, thinking for sure that the worst is yet to come. I scream, and I hear a noise behind me. The other back door is being opened, and my mother is on the other side. I calm down, take a deep breath, and will myself to get out. A few cars have pulled over; good Samaritans step out, wanting to help.
“Cassie! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I snap out of the past and back to the present as one of my friends touches my shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… Don’t worry about it.” We keep walking to class, and I look back over my shoulder. The car is gone, but the memory is back. No longer on the back burner of mind, it’s all I can think about. While others are concentrating on Algebra, or the Constitution, I’ll be reliving the most terrifying day of my life, with no one to lean on, no one to help, no one who understands.
Most of the time, memory isn’t reliable. Time and other peoples influences change it fairly easily. But there’s always an exception. Always something that you live through, creating a memory that you’ll live with for the rest of your life. It’s a memory that will never be altered, that can’t be changed. It’s a life time of I see the car, and have to wonder. Can it be?

Publication Date: 05-05-2011

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