Eagle Down

As a new member of the Central High School teaching staff, donning a vibrant eagle onesie for Halloween became a delightful way to blend fun with my role within the school community. The majestic eagle, with its sweeping wings and sharp eyes, embodies both the fierce determination and soaring aspirations of our students, so wearing this playful costume was a celebration of our mascot. The onesie, plush and adorned with large wings, offered not only warmth on that crisp autumn day but also transformed me into a lively symbol of school pride. My colleagues and students gleefully cheered as I strutted through the halls, flapping my make-believe wings and striking exaggerated poses. It was a wonderful reminder of how school spirit can infuse even the spookiest of occasions with joy and camaraderie, fostering an atmosphere where laughter thrives, and connections deepen. As I watched students embrace the holiday with creative costumes of their own, I was reminded that in this vibrant community, even the simplest gestures can uplift and inspire a sense of belonging.

After a long day of teaching in my playful eagle onesie, surrounded by the vibrant chaos of Halloween festivities, I finally slip away from Central and make my way to my trusty Dodge Caravan, a haven of comfort after hours of spirited engagement with my students. The bustling sounds of laughter and excitement from the holiday linger in the air as I climb into the familiar embrace of my vehicle, still wearing the whimsical costume that has generated plenty of giggles and joy. As I start the engine, the comforting hum fills the cabin, and the vibrant autumn leaves swirl around me like confetti. The drive home offers a moment of reflection; I recall the delighted shrieks of my students as they shared their Halloween plans, a reminder that even teenagers enjoy the holiday. With the glow of the afternoon sun casting soft hues through the van windows, I savor the prospect of a well-deserved evening, ready to unwind with some hot cider and perhaps a few pieces of the very candy I had been handing out just hours earlier. The drive down Dodge, lined with flickering jack-o’-lanterns and giant skeletons, feels like a gentle transition from a day of playful exuberance to an evening of cozy warmth and relaxation.

When I finally turn onto Blondo, a wave of relief washes over me; my home is just blocks away, and the promise of a cozy evening awaits me. But that sense of comfort quickly shatters as a car suddenly comes to a halt directly in front of me, its brake lights flickering ominously. Instinctively, I slam on my brakes and manage to stop, but before I can fully register the situation, I feel a jarring impact from behind—a sharp, startling collision as the car behind me slams into my rear bumper. The crunch of metal and the sudden motion sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, and in that split second, a cascade of worries floods my mind. Am I injured? What about my beloved van? I glance in my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the startled driver who had clearly not anticipated the abrupt stop. As the reality of the situation settles in, I take a deep breath, reminding myself of the importance of staying calm and collected amidst the chaos—this is a moment that requires patience and clarity, even if all I long for is the safety of home.

While I climb out of the van, still clad in my absurd eagle onesie paired with eagle slippers, an overwhelming sense of surreal confusion envelops me. The regular attire of bystanders sharply contrasts with my outlandish outfit, but it is the frantic screams from the driver of the car that crashed into me from behind that jolts me back to reality. Approaching the vehicle with caution, I observe the driver in a complete state of panic, her eyes wide and frantic as she struggles to get out of her crumpled car. When I step forward to help, I inhale the strong odor of alcohol as she stumbles from her vehicle, incoherently blaming me for stopping too suddenly. My heart races, not from fear, but from the bizarre contrast of the moment: here I stand, a spectacle in costume amidst what could be a serious situation. Although her accusations ignite my anger, I remember the advice I often offer my students, so I take several deep breaths while counting to ten.

Eventually, when a police officer arrives at the scene of the accident, her presence feels both reassuring and disconcerting. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting eerie shadows over the crumpled metal and shattered glass that mark the aftermath of the collision. The officer swiftly assesses the situation without interacting with me or the visibly intoxicated driver; instead, she seems to focus on establishing the facts rather than engaging in conversation. My heart races as I stand by, grappling with the shock of what has just transpired. Amidst the cacophony of ambulance sirens and my own racing thoughts, the officer approaches me. After taking in my bizarre attire, she blandly asks if I want to file a report about the accident. Although I understand her desire to get off duty, the gravity of the situation warrants consequences for the still screaming woman demanding attention by paramedics. With a mix of indignation and the desire for justice, I contemplate my response, grappling with the importance of making my voice heard in a moment that seems to reflect wider issues of safety and responsibility on the roads.

Standing on the busy roadside, adrenaline surging through me and dressed in an eagle costume, I recount the accident to the police officer. I explained that the driver ahead of me abruptly slowed down to turn into her apartment parking lot, prompting me to instinctively apply the brakes. I managed to stay composed and came to a full stop behind her. However, as I checked my rearview mirror, a car darted into my lane and crashed into me without any sign of slowing down. Her speed propelled my van forward, landing perilously close to a telephone pole. I stressed to the officer that I was not at fault; I had been adhering to the speed limit and was diligently keeping an eye out for children out trick-or-treating. Once I finish, I watch vehicles speed past on the busy street while I await the police officer's response.

With a shrug, the officer replies, “Well, the driver of the other vehicle claims you slammed on your breaks for no reason, which didn’t allow her enough time to stop.”

This response only intensifies my anger as I stand there, my emotions swirling. I sharply inquire, “Did you check her breath? She’s obviously intoxicated!?

Dismissing the idea, she quips, “I don’t believe that will be necessary. The accident has made her quite distraught.”

Glaring at the officer in disbelief, my rude response is cut off by an approaching bystander. Holding up a smartphone, the man eagerly offers to show us a video of the whole incident that was caught by the camera on his apartment balcony. The footage provides unmistakable evidence of the recklessness that preceded the crash, capturing the truth of the situation. Realizing that this evidence will exonerate me and play a critical role in holding the drunk driver accountable for her actions, I shot a victorious glance at the astonished officer before I ask him to email me a copy of the video.

With a grim expression, the officer apologizes for not believing me and then approaches the suspected drunk driver, who is woefully sobbing in the back of an ambulance. I watch as she methodically pulls out a breathalyzer. While the driver exhales into the device, I know the results will determine the gravity of the repercussions for her reckless actions that had endangered my life just moments before. It is a tense waiting game; the results of the breathalyzer will not only validate my concerns but also determine who will pay for repairs to my van.

Standing next to my damaged van, a flurry of emotions engulfs me while I shiver inside my onesie. After the officer conducts the breathalyzer test, she returns to inform me that the device has confirmed my suspicions—the other driver is indeed under the influence. The situation feels surreal as the ambulance, lights flashing, exits the parking lot with the impaired individual secure in the back. Once she meticulously fills out the required paperwork, the officer gives me all the documentation I need to provide to my insurance company. With a polite nod, I get into my van for the brief drive home, still processing the shock but reassured by the knowledge that justice is on my side. Although the harsh realities of the day remain with me, so does the hope that I can soon move forward and regain a sense of normalcy.

Upon entering the house, I quickly ditched my costume before plopping into my recliner. After sharing a warm meal, Ericka and I decide to conduct a Google search to uncover more about the driver who collided with me, only to discover that she has a troubling history of DUIs—a revelation that sends chills down my spine. It suddenly dawns on me that I narrowly escaped a potentially dire situation, highlighting the importance of remaining vigilant on the road. Not surprisingly, the next day I received a call from her mother’s insurance company offering to cover the damages to my beloved van, providing a glimmer of relief amid the stress of dealing with the incident. This unexpected turn of events prompted a flood of relief knowing I will have their help restoring my vehicle.

The next day I filed a claim anticipating a swift resolution, only to find myself entangled in an unexpected battle with the insurance company. They launch numerous challenges against the assessment of my van, disputing its total loss status. Their arguments feel like a bureaucratic maze, filled with endless paperwork and drawn-out assessments. What should have been a straightforward claim morphs into a nine-week struggle filled with phone calls and negotiations. Meanwhile, their endless claims leave me relying on a rental car that reeks of smoke, which only adds to my stress. I long for the compensation battle to end, so my life can return to normal.

After nine weeks of navigating the labyrinthine claims process, I finally received a settlement from the insurance company, allowing me to purchase a fabulous new SUV. With its sleek lines, advanced technology, and a robust all-wheel-drive system, each drive in my new vehicle feels like a triumphant celebration, a fresh start after the turmoil. However, for the first few months, every time I drive past the Blondo accident site, an unsettling tension washes over me. Memories of that tragic day flood my mind, reminding me of the fragility of life and the importance of safety on the road. Despite the comfortable leather seats and the soothing hum of the engine, a knot forms in my stomach as I recall the chaos that unfolded on that very spot. Eventually, I remind myself to embrace the freedom of the soaring Central eagle which turns every journey into a precious gift on the wings of my GMC Acadia.