High on the news that I'd been accepted into UConn's honors study abroad program in South Africa next Spring, The last couple weeks have coasted by. Midterm grades trickled in and I was pleasantly surprised at my progress. I started seeing someone to discuss the anxiety and isolation I've been wrestling with, and began feeling better right away. I discovered that part of what I needed was just to talk about it with a live person. In nearly all ways, I felt like I'd hit my stride. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and was felt encouraged. Organized. Ready.
And then I wrapped my car around a telephone pole.
Suffice it to say I escaped with no major injuries, but the car was utterly destroyed. I sat on the side of the road talking with police officers for more than an hour explaining what happened, that I was sober and had felt fine before the accident, that I had, in fact, been singing along with the radio.
I knew better but I declined medical treatment and got a ride home. I was determined not to miss class and figured I could always take myself to the ER after class. I got a few hours of sleep and woke early to get to school.
I was walking down a flight of stairs when, suddenly, I was looking up at a group of concerned fireman. They told me I'd fallen unconscious on my way down the stairs. They told me they were taking me to the hospital. They told me I should have gone to the hospital immediately after the accident.
"Yes," I said, mildly embarrassed. "I know. I know."
At the hospital, I was poked and scanned and bled and rubbed and given more than one "talking to". Turned out I hadn't sustained any major injuries but that I was more than a little dehydrated. They pumped me full of fluids and, after a few hours, I was sent home with strict orders to rest and recover.
Even though I avoided major injuries, I was still extremely sore. I spent the next week recovering at home. With great effort, I resisted the urge to go to class.
After a week at home, I had had it. Still a little sore and stiff but really unable to afford missing more classes by staying home, I drove back to school this morning (at a reasonable rate of speed) for the first time since the accident.
All was going well until I was a half mile from campus. A deer jumped out in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks, my seat belt pressing hard against the old bruise.
The deer starred at me, blinking. "$#!& you, Bambi!" I yelled, shaking behind the wheel. The deer lingered for another moment, considering my insult before bounding off into the woods.
I looked to the sky. "Still going to class", I said, and stepped on the accelerator. The car lurched forward (at an even more reasonable rate of speed) and I with it, both now with our eyes peeled for sassy deer.
First class was thoroughly exhausting and physically painful to sit through. I winced and squirmed like a child in a barber's chair during the last 10 minutes of class.
Limped to and subsequently fell asleep in my second class. By the time I got to my third class, my hands were shaking. The professor stopped me after to class to welcome me back and ask how I was feeling.
"Exhausted," I said.
"I'm surprised that you managed to stay awake for the entire class."
I stretched generously and Mr joints cracked and popped like firewood. "Determination," I said.
"Good luck," he said.
I hobbled toward the elevator.
Took me nearly 20 minutes to walk from my adviser's office to my third class. I sat down in my seat with an audible grunt and paid for the sloppy effort with a bolt of pain through my upper back.
I reached up with my right hand to rub my left shoulder blade and my elbow popped like a firecracker. A young woman turned and looked, first at me, then my elbow, then back to me, her face a twisted mask of equal parts horror and disgust. I shrugged and smiled as cheerfully as I could. She looked away, no doubt with choice words of judgement dying behind her teeth.
Earlier, I'd explained to my adviser that I'd almost hit a deer earlier this morning. Her smile was brief but sympathetic.
"What do think the universe is trying to tell you?" she asked after a brief pause.
I considered that carefully, add if the universe could say anything, as if it would be concerned with the likes of me if it could, as if I'd ever be able to understand it. "Well I don't think I'd telling me not to drive!"
We laughed and I looked at my shoes. After a moment, I found more words. "I made a promise before I started this whole thing to finish no matter what." I looked out the window before settling my gaze on my adviser. "Maybe the universe is saying, 'No matter what? Ok. Prove it.'"
"Maybe," she said.
"Maybe," I said.
Outside her window, the path to my next class lay bathed in golden Autumn sun, like a trophy, like a dare. I stood with some effort and stretched.
"Almost done," I said, and headed for the door. "Almost done," I said again, this time to myself.
The universe made no reply.
