I've never really put into words how I felt about that day. Sure I've cried about it and talked about it and thought about it but I'm never just spewed everything onto a page. I get it, I'm trying to write this eloquently and beautifully that in the end is not going to truly change my life. I am the thing that's going to change me. I am okay. I walked out of a car that flipped onto its roof. I have three tiny scars from it and I've never been so thankful for my life. Not many people know how to drive a manual car, but personally I think it's pretty mature and unique that my very first car was a manual 2005 Nissan Xterra. My oldest sister, Alison, named her Ruth. It was pretty exciting learning how to drive it, practicing going into first after stop signs or starting it up again when you're on a hill. I remember I used to cry when my dad would make me drive it, but I'm really grateful that he pushed me so hard. I love switching from 2nd to 3rd in Ruth. It was always such a smooth and satisfying transition. I practiced so much that my feet had perfectly balanced the pedals and I felt so accomplished. Sure, it was a little jerky at times, but I loved that car more than anything. Driving along that road with Maya in the passenger seat singing along to “Before He Cheats� by Carrie Underwood on my little blue speaker. We came to the left turn lane, right down the road from volleyball practice. I remember seeing four or five cars pass by going a reasonable speed. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably going 45. There was a break in traffic. A big enough break for me to clear the intersection. I shifted the clutch to my left and down into second and felt the rumbling of the engine, my stomach felt uneasy but I still had confidence that I could get through. Two bright yellow lights. When a red Jeep and a boy not much different from us came whistling towards me, time froze. My hands locked on the wheel, the seat belt secure, but my whole world was turned upside down. Literally. I felt the jolt of energy pushing us to the left and flipping my little Ruth. It was such a bizarre sensation to get out of the car that day. I saw the glass all around me. I saw the road right by my head. I saw the blood in my hands. Then my next memory was from outside of the car, helping Maya to the sidewalk and screeching about the smoke coming from the other car. Apparently I climbed out the window, I don't really remember it though. It's one of the worst tricks my mind plays on me. I can just imagine someone from the outside looking in on that shattered window. Did I put my feet on the roof of the car then unbuckle? Did I hold onto the wheel for stability? Did I cut my hands before or after I was upside down? How did Maya get out? What would it have been like if I was in the passenger seat? What happened if the engine wouldn't have rumbled in second but sped off in first gear? It's one of those moments in your life when you try to blame everything else on everyone else but in your gut, you just can't, you know that you're the one who made the mistake and you're always going to be the one to blame. You become disappointed in yourself and it's easy for that sensation to come rushing back. The feeling of success is so immensely emotional but the magnitude of feeling disappointed in yourself versus the magnitude of feeling success is so much greater, so much more impactful, and it makes you doubt any good qualities about yourself. It illuminates your biggest flaws and most hidden insecurities and you just sit there and think that it could never be worse than it is right now. It really sunk in when I was sitting in a hospital bed all by myself in the ER. My left hand had cuts all up and down my fingers and it was gushing blood from the moment I got out of the
car. I got to that room all that the nurse gave me was a white towel. It wasn't even wet. There wasn't anything to stop my bleeding and there wasn't even any Band-Aids offered to me. Just me and my towel for the next maybe 30 minutes before my parents finally got there. I think about that room all the time and how I never want to go back. It made me feel so worthless and so irrelevant and useless and so isolated and alone. I've never really been the person to enjoy attention and don't get me wrong, Maya was obviously the priority at that time because of her back and her injuries but that was maybe the darkest I've ever felt. I don't often tell people about that because I try to forget it. It doesn't make me tear up when it comes to mind, it just makes me forget how to breathe and I shiver and I get locked in a trance replaying the day vividly and I forget how to feel like a human. I was so disappointed in myself and I felt like the world was so disappointed in me. I felt like I deserved that attention-less, dim and depressing room. But that's the exact opposite of why I'm writing this. That cold day in February is etched in my brain for eternity but I'm learning so much about myself and so much about how I can make myself happy. I honestly believe that that's one of my best qualities is how thankful I am. The people around me are around me for a reason and they do everything to make me happy and I just want them to know how thankful I am for them. I do little things everyday to get my mind off it. I sing a song in the car with the windows down or I hug my dog and play with her or I let my sisters and my friends and my family know how much I love them. It might sound cheesy but it's the most satisfying thing I can do. I try to think about all the positives, like how I'm a better driver and how I care so much about the people that I love. I also think that I have a bad tendency of still taking so many things for granted in my life. I know when people say that it was the worst day of their life, they normally make some big life change or some resolution that they live by and I'm kind of stuck. I'm stuck on how much more passion I should be putting into things and how much more confidence I should have about myself and how much more time I should be taking to do things that make me laugh and that make me happy and that will make some of the best memories while I'm still young. My mom always said it helped me grow up. I despise that. I hate that a part of my innocence was taken that day. A new chapter began where I would never be as grateful as I am today. I would never just cry over silly little girl drama or emotional movies. I don't cry because I am sad. I don't even really cry because I am happy. I cry because I am ok. Because Maya and the boy are ok. Me. Sara Schlichting flipped a car. Sara Schlichting drove Maya and made a bad call. Sara Schlichting is talked about by the boy’s friends and his family and on stupid social media. I do not hate many things, but I have no way to cope with all the hate inside of me. I hate that this is the essay I am writing. I hate that the worst day of my life has already happened, and I was only 16 years old. Some days I think about it more than others. Some days I cry about it to the point that my entire body is shaking and my eyes swell and puff and my mind shuts down. Some days I see the boy who hit me and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. Some days I run to my parents sobbing and hug them and tell them I love them and that I am sorry. I remember the whole day so clearly. The putrid memory, forever with me.