Second Chances

Everything passes in a haze. Firefighters and police keep checking on me, asking if I'm alright and telling me not to stand up or move my head. Most of them look a little startled when I make jokes after answering their questions, but I have to try and relieve the tension somehow. A couple of them comment that I'm handling the situation really well, but when I get in my boyfriend's car, and he starts driving me to a doctor, I fall apart.

I have no money for any of this. I can't afford to replace my car, and without a car, getting to work will be near impossible, and missing work isn't an option. It feels like my world is falling apart around me.

My boyfriend tells me that I shouldn't worry; that's what insurance is for. What's important is that the other driver and I are both alright, with no serious injuries. I want to take his advice, but the insurance issue weighs on my mind as we sit in the ER waiting room. I start to feel the shock and adrenaline wear off as we sit there, and a creeping tiredness begins to set in.

"Babe, if you have a concussion, then you can't sleep. Stay awake until the doctor gives you the okay," my boyfriend says. I hate that he's right. He does everything he can to keep me from falling asleep, but all I want to do is lie down. It's a relief when a nurse calls my name.

I'm asked the same questions by several nurses and doctors, and I'm forced to recount the same hazy details.

Car accident this morning. All happened so fast. T-boned on the driver's side door, I was driving. No, it didn't flip. There's a ringing in my left ear, and my left arm hurts. Yes, the side airbags deployed, but the front one didn't.

The consensus from the medical professionals is that I got very lucky, and the side airbags, which apparently not all cars, have saved my life. I should have a concussion or have broken something, or worse, but I walk out of the ER with a clean bill of health, save a scrape of unknown origin on my arm, and a recommendation to take it easy for a few days.

Suddenly the insurance doesn't concern me anymore. I'm playing the accident over and over in my head. I didn't feel lucky until I'd been told just how lucky I was. I'm quiet the whole drive home. My boyfriend tucks me into bed and goes to make tea while I call the restaurant I work in.

I tell them about the accident and that I'm not coming in today.

"You're sure you can't just power through it?" They ask.

No, I can't. My tray arm is battered, bruised and bleeding, and all the muscles in my body are beginning to stiffen up.

"But you said you don't have a concussion or whiplash," my manager argues.

No, I'm alright, but the doctors and nurses all said to rest.

"You're making things very difficult for me tonight. If you don't have a concussion, then I expect you in for your shift tomorrow."

The line beeps as she hangs up, and I'm struck by how little my workplace cares. My boyfriend comes back with tea, and we spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon in bed with Netflix until he has to leave for work.

Once I'm alone, I start to think. I work this dead-end job full of verbal and mental abuse from customers and management alike to pay the bills and save for tuition for a psychology degree. The longer I think about it, the fewer reasons I can see to keep the job. I leave a message at the restaurant that I'm taking a few days of bed rest and email the doctor's note I got from the ER.

Those days of rest are full of research, pulling out old sketchbooks from the closet and dusting off old short stories from my laptop. I have an idea, and more importantly, I finally have the motivation to go after it.

Everyone tells me not to, but I quit my job less than a month later. I take out a student loan, which my family tells me I'll never be able to pay back, and I start a college program in animation. My family thinks I'm crazy when I upgrade my computer and purchase a subscription for animation software for my classes.

They remind me that an artistic career will never earn me a living, and I should go back to the safer path of getting my psych degree and entering the world of therapy. They try to convince my boyfriend to talk me into changing my mind, but he embraces my crazy and offers support. My family is convinced he will change his mind and tell me that I cannot rely on him while pursuing an insane idea.

I couldn't care less what they said. I was told I was lucky to be alive. By all accounts, this is my second chance. I won't waste it on making a living. I want to use it to build a life.