She Could Have Been Me; the Driver

A couple of weeks ago, I was returning home from a late trip to the grocery store, and I hit a cat.

One moment I was passing under the green light, listening to K's tantrum in her car seat. There was a sudden flash of tan reflecting in my right headlight, and two thumps. I didn't know what I hit. I pulled over to the side of the road, and the cars that were behind me passed. Sillouetted against the headlights was a small lump in the road.

Poor thing, I thought. I didn't know what to do. One doesn't call 9-1-1 over an animal, I knew. I couldn't just leave K alone, but I couldn't just leave this animal either. I picked up my cell phone and tried to call my husband. Maybe he would know what I should do. He didn't answer. Mom once had a cat; I tried her number. No answer.

And then, the poor thing raised its head.

Another driver pulled over, and went to the cat. I jumped out of the van, hurrying over. "I hit it," I cried. "What is it?"

He came toward me. "It's a cat," he said. "I laid it over there on the ground." (Yes, getting it out of the road made sense.) This man, Tom, and I spent a couple of hours trying to take care of this poor cat. Eventually, he took it with him, to take to the Humane Society the next day (because I am allergic to cats, and he has one,) and then remembered that OSU has a veterinary school. He called the next morning and told me that he took the cat there, and they said they would take care of it.

But you see, this isn't about the cat. It started with the cat, but it isn't about that.

I am still a bit of a wreck about the cat. I cried when one of the neighborhood cats ran from my porch one morning. It wasn't even similar; this cat had no tail, and totally different coloring. But I hit a cat, and will never know whether it survived the night.

It happened so fast, and I couldn't help but think of the way my daughter tried to run away from me in the parking lot that evening, not wanting to go home. I thought of my sister's little boy, three months older than K, who darted out of the house so fast that his father had to run full speed after him to keep him out of the street. What if, instead of a cat, I'd hit a toddler with an escape fetish? How would I live with myself?

The next day, I drove past the school where a crossing guard gave her life to save a child last year. I sobbed at the memory of that story. I know the child was badly injured but survived thanks to her sacrifice. I wonder how he is doing now?

How did the driver go on, with the guilt of knowing he had taken an innocent life? How would I?

A few more days flashed by. I was hurrying home to meet the first bus, which brings my 12-year-old R home from school. The road I drove is one I use frequently. There is an overpass over railroad tracks, then the road goes under the freeway, with a fairly sharp left turn just past the bridge. The road is marked 50 MPH. On the stretch on the other side of the turn, I rarely drive 50. There are several businesses, a smattering of homes, and railroad tracks, all of which seem to require more attention than I can give at that speed.

This particular day, as I round the bend, I am surprised to find a school bus there, lights flashing. I've noticed the homes in this area, but never thought about them holding school age children. I shudder, thinking how glad I am that our family doesn't live on such a busy, fast road. I wish this bit of road was marked a little slower, to help protect those families.

I drove this stretch of road twice, that other night, with the cat. The cat that could have been a child.

More days flash by. K has a morning appointment, and I am rushing to get her there. I turn onto the stretch of road, and go over the tracks, only to see emergency lights up ahead. A little closer, and I see that the road is blocked. I use a driveway to turn around, wondering what happened. The mental image of the school bus flashes in my mind. NO, I tell it. I won't accept that concept.

I don't know whether more days flash by, but it seems like the next morning, ten-year-old C is hit by a car, and killed, on that stretch of road. He was waiting for the bus, crossed the road to chase geese, we are told, and then turned around to cross back to home. The woman who drove the SUV wasn't charged legally. She wasn't breaking the law; she simply didn't have the chance to stop.

She could have been me.