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| Image: http://farm3.static.flickr.com |
I was sitting in the back of the yellow taxi looking my clock impatiently as every precious moment slipped away.
I tried to push the pressure and tense feelings out of my mind and focus on the lovely view New York City has to offer in the rainy spring.
It was a day like any other. The building stood as they always did, the cafes were open, people were roaming with umbrellas trying to escape the water falling from the sky.
And then... it happened.
I saw the driver of my cab making a right turn, and I saw the car coming straight at us. I assumed he would stop at the light.
He did not.
I sat in the back seat as a complete stranger to myself and watched it happen. Our car drove head on into the other car.
My driver slammed on the breaks but it was too late.
Bumpers of both cars flew off, the other cab had smashed lights.
And I was in a hurry. And I was trying to figure out why my driver wasn't continuing to drive.
Forget the fact that the car is totalled, I am late.
In a state of total shock, I handed the driver cash, I tipped him.
And I walked out of the cab. It took a few minutes of walking aimlessly in the rain for what happened to hit me.
And at that moment, where my tears mixed with the rain, I broke down crying.
Crying because of what had happened to me, crying because I was alive, and crying because I did not know what it means to be alive in a certain way until that moment.
