Wednesday, 17 July 2002 | Crunch

On my way to work this morning, I was stopped behind a car in a sudden clot of traffic, and a car from behind slammed into me. I didn't see her coming; I just felt the impact, my body and head lurching forward in discordant rhythm, the crunch of my gray metal being sandwiched between their teal and white metal. From the way it sounded, and from the way it felt, I thought my car had caved in on both ends. But instead, the only damage I saw was a triangular chip of gray fiber glass the size of a fingernail missing from the top of the bumper. My neck felt stiff right away, but I was hoping that would go away. I didn't mention it to the woman I'd hit or the woman who'd hit me.

They were both nice, but no one was sharply coherent, just shaken out of the morning daze. We exchanged numbers, and when I carefully climbed back in my car, I was surprised to see that the piece around my dashboard clock had become dislodged; I'd already forgotten that the shove from behind had come with some power. I was surprised again when, after arriving at work, I reached for my work bag and saw that it had been turned upside-down and its contents scattered on the floor.

A block away from work, I slowed past a much more serious freshly made wreck. Though it would seem otherwise, today it's sunny and blue.

My headache sounds like static, and I'm moving my body like a stiff plastic doll. I sincerely hope that I don't have to wear a neck brace again.