Dear the cyclist for whom C-Man stopped our car and motioned him to cross,
It totally wasn’t your fault that we got hit, but it would have been nice if you’d stopped when you heard the smashing sound behind you. Just a quick “thanks for not smashing into me when the GMC Sierra with the big grill rear ended your Honda Fit with the three year old in the back seat” would have been lovely.
For a split second, you had to choose between killing someone on a bike and possibly hurting me and your kid. I’m so sorry that happened. You did great. If your right arm is going to be f***ed forever now, I will save up my allowance and get you a bionic one, I promise.
Dear Kate, the EMT from out of town who was jogging by and came to check on us,
If I think about how nice you were too much, I start to cry. I’m sorry my child said he was bored of talking to you. I wish I could tell you he normally has better manners, but he’s three and they just don’t know all the rules yet.
Dear the City of Austin EMT who showed up in the ambulance a few minutes later and officially checked out my kid,
I appreciate the compliment on my car seat installation skills, that’s very reassuring. Also, the bag from Freebirds that probably held your dinner, stuck in the front window of your sweet ride, was a nice touch.
Dear the guy driving the GMC Sierra that smashed up the back of our car,
C-Man says you seemed to be thinking of getting all aggro when you got out to assess the damage, until you saw Boy Detective in the back seat – a visual identification made easier by our now nonexistent back windshield. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because things are really wack for the few minutes after two cars make contact unexpectedly. Good save, and I hope the rest of your evening was less stressful.
Dear Honda Fit,
You rock! We are totally fine! Granted it was a low speed collision (20 mph?) but I was more than happy to be spared a trip to the emergency room.
Dear Volume Three of Queen and Country that was in the back seat,
You didn’t even fall off the seat onto the floor, which is a shame. You deserve to be slapped around for Tara Chace suddenly being drawn like Jessica f***ing Rabbit. Because of you, I can no longer trust Greg Rucka, and that is a sad thing.
Dear The Universe,
You know that when I can’t sleep, I think about the X-Men rather a lot to keep my brain from going to bad places that involve words like “death” and “son” and “husband” and “car accident.”
Thanks for not making this the incident that renders thinking about the X-Men wholly inadequate for dealing with lonely hours in the middle of the night.