I Witnessed an Accident.

I was a witness to a bad car accident a few nights ago. A really bad one. The driver was unconscious and bleeding from a head-wound. He had driven straight into the back of a parked truck.

That’s all I know. My official statement, given to the police, doesn’t contain much more information than that. I cannot speculate as to the cause of the accident. I don’t know anything, really,  about the accident, other than that I saw it happen.

I hardly know what I saw. I do know that I jumped in my seat. I do know that I stood outside in the cold for over an hour, shaking with shock. I do know that I called 911, spoke to the operator briefly, and then handed the phone to my friend who had gone to check on the condition of the driver so that he could describe what type of medical care might be necessary.

Details after the accident are much more clear than the accident itself. I remember a woman walking across the street, shoelaces untied, with a braid, to stand with us. She had heard the accident. She kept trying to talk to us. The three of us, the only witnesses, stood, trembling and silent. We didn’t really talk back. I’m not sure when she left.

We began to talk, the three of us, to cement the details in our heads so that we could offer them with some certainty to the officers. We talked to try to stop trembling.