Car Wreck

I need to write this down before it becomes too blurry for it to have the same impact.

I was wearing a gray long sleeve v-neck under my leather jacket;  I was wearing some black fingerless gloves that I had made from an old pair of mix-matched black gloves that had resided in the living room closet for too long and some light-blue, white paint splattered jeans.  Jonah was wearing some blue jeans, a long sleeve green t-shirt, and his black coat; a gray toboggan and matching gloves were laying next to him on the seat.  I was just coming back from the Dollar Store where I was checking on a job application with Jonah, after we had finished lunch at McDonald's.   Jonah had a Happy Meal with chicken nuggets and a hot fudge sundae and I had a two cheeseburger meal with a large carmel frappe.  We were at the three-way intersection of Davidson Highway and Winecoff School Road- the one with the blinking yellow turn signal.  I had let a couple cars past before I looked to see if anyone else was coming:  there was a small gray car- a Flex or a Fit or whatever- but it was a good distance away and I thought it was going to slow down.  Three quarters of the way through the intersection, there was a loud, almost stereotypical crash sound and the world turned gray as I felt my body get jerked.  There was smoke and glass all over the place and the smell of burnt rubber and chemicals filled my nose.  I remember looking at the airbag deflate, and hearing the sound of Jonah moving.  I turned around to look at Jonah and-

I have to take a moment to gather my thoughts here because this is the worst part about the accident.  Not the fact that my car was totaled, not the fact that I probably had a concussion, not the fact that I had no idea how we were going to be able to pay for this or the insurance after this;  no, the worst possible thing about this accident is what I'm going to describe next.

Jonah was turning away from the window and there was a look of absolute, ice cold fear in his eyes.  There was deep tears in the side of his face and you could see the white bone and red flesh underneath and the flaps of skin that were left were hanging from the side of his face.  I watched with a look of absolute terror and nausea as my 8 year old brother's face scrunch up as he felt the blood run down his face and he slowly lifted his right hand and touched the side of his face and screamed.  Grabbing the door handle, I pushed the door open and ran to the driver's side rear door and ripped it open and half leapt/half crawled over the seat to him.  I immediately put my hand over the gashes and, screaming and quivering, I told him over and over again "I love you Jonah" "I'm so sorry" "You're going to be alright"  "I didn't ever mean for this to happen"  "I'm sorry"  "Jonah".  And then I looked past his broken face to see a Mexican American or Hispanic lady in a black car with silver rims and all of the sudden I started screaming "Help me" over and over and over and over and over again.  The lady looked like she typed something into a phone and then she drove off and I went hysterical screaming for somebody, anybody to help me, that he was only 8 years old and that he had never done anything to deserve this.   It felt like hours before somebody pulled me off of him and I was thrust back into the cold air and there was a couple of strong men who tending to my brother and I just lost it.  I started to scream that this supposed to never happen, that Jonah shouldn't have gotten hurt and why wasn't I hurt, I was the one driving and that this was just a dream, a nightmare, it wasn't real and I bit myself over and over again to wake myself and a woman told me that Jonah needed me to be strong and then I went over there and I told Jonah that it was just a small cut and soon as we get done at the doctor's, they'll take us home and well finish that level on the video game you were telling me about in McDonald's, you remember McDonald's, don't you? and please tell me you remember McDonald's, Jonah, Please tell me you remember and then I would lose all conception of control and go over to the phone pole and yell at myself and the car and then go back to Jonah.  I tried desperately to call 911 but all I could get was 335 and then 334 and then 944 and finally 911 and then it was all I could do to scream at the man on the line and make out the words of intersection of Davidson highway and Winecoff before I accidentally hung up on him and then I tried to call my mom, calling everyone else on the contact list and then finally screaming when she picked up.  By some miracle, she made it before the ambulance left and I rode in the ambulance telling Jonah that I was so sorry so sorry and telling my mom that I never meant for this to happen and that I should of been hurt because I was the one driving and if anything was to be blamed for, it was my fault and I should be the one punished.

When Jonah went into surgery, my Mom asked me who's blood was on my hands and I broke down again because I realized that my brother's blood was on my hands: I was the one who hurt him this way.