I will never forget her face the moments before the crash. She could have been Edward Munch�s model for his Scream painting�a long, slender face, which showed signs of a past beauty but had long since lost its natural allure. Even with the jaw dropped in alarm, the skin was visibly a separate entity as if a surgeon had removed her face and reattached it half an inch lower. The folds under her indistinguishable eyes cupped grays that matched her hair so monotone that she faded into the overcast day. All of this I noticed as her Ford Explorer collided with my Altima.
With that face impressed into my mind, and knowing the fear that it implied, I opened the car door, stepping onto the pavement on unsteady legs. Approaching the window, I tried to straighten my own face into an expression of assurance and intelligence. I found her already on the phone and smoking her first cigarette, back turned to the driver�s window. When I tapped on the glass, she lifted her eyes long enough to categorize me as another inexperienced youth before returning to her phone call. Shocked and offended, I turned away to search for my own cell phone, only to discover that it had been thrown onto my passenger side floorboard, rendering it unreachable due to the smashed passenger door and some shattered glass. Returning to the Explorer, I tapped more forcefully on the window. She rolled it down, though still on the phone, a crease forming between her eyebrows at having been pestered again.
�May I borrow your phone? I can�t reach mine.�
Still speaking into the phone she replied��I�m going to have to call you back. This little girl needs to borrow my phone.�
When the fire truck and ambulance weaved through the impatient commuters to our accident, she leapt out of the car with an air of relief, almost eagerness. There, in the middle of the street, she built a wall of paramedics between her and me so that all I could hear was her cursing, a third cigarette in her hand, which often appeared above the heads of the paramedics as she dramatically expressed her discomfort.
Leaning back against the remnants of my car, I watched her complain and argue. Not knowing that I would later be cleared of fault, I became worried about future insurance rates and the hassle of dealing with a totaled car. In addition, I could barely contain my anger and confusion at the lady�s rude behavior. Did she ignore me because I represented a mistake that she did not yet want to admit? Perhaps she still hoped of eluding responsibility, taking advantage of my age and inexperience. Maybe she was having an off day, just as scared and shaken as I was, the rules of decency forgotten in the midst of fear. Because of that last possibility, I buried my pride and followed the officer in his highly�polished black boots.