Four years ago at about 8am one rainy day in April, I was struck by a livery van on 9th Avenue at 26th Street in Manhattan. It was a gray and slushy morning. A perfect day to off set my favorite bright red umbrella! I had the right of way and entered the cross walk paying little attention to anything, except my feet in the rain puddles. Then came the smack, the ground, the wetness, and the addled state of mind. The van stopped, I got up instantly, clutching my umbrella and handbag, and walked, without a word toward the auto repair shop on the corner. The mechanics took down the driver’s license plate number and information. I wondered if I was ok, as did everyone at the scene. I took inventory of my parts: torn pants, sore leg, sore elbow, wet clothes, faint voice. I didn’t hit my head but the ambulance was called anyway and I went to the emergency room. Within an hour I was sent home with some aspirin and the reassurance that I would be fine. I recall being somewhat relieved having only to recover from the psychological repercussions of the accident.
The torn clothes are long gone, the bruises too. The broken umbrella and my fading memory are the only remaining vestiges of the accident. Sometimes I think healing is just a form of forgetting. I guess I’ve kept the broken umbrella in order to remember, like tying a string around your finger.
-Addie Juell
