When the air bag came blasting toward my face I thought it was the deer coming through the windshield, and then everything turned white and I couldn't tell whether I was on or off the highway. All I could see was a cloud of white powder--no deer bounding across the road, and no road. Finally I looked in the rear-view and saw that somehow I'd managed to stop my car on the shoulder, out of the way of rush-hour traffic.
I couldn't breathe. The air smelled hot and sour and dusty, and the rigid side-wall air bags blocked the door so I couldn't get out. I couldn't find the emergency flashers but somehow managed to turn off the radio. I fumbled for the keys and stabbed the air bag to let out the air, and finally I was able to disentangle myself from what was left of my car. Crumpled. Hissing.
People stopped. They asked whether I was okay and I kept saying I'm fine, I'm fine, but my hands were shaking and I couldn't get the smell of the air bags out of my mouth. Today my ankle hurts from stomping on the brakes and I have bruises from the air bags and seat belt, but I'm fine. Really.
Nevertheless I was glad to sit on a nearby tree trunk while a nice young man called the highway patrol and a wrecker service, and I was glad to have him stay around while we waited in the harsh sunlight for help to arrive. It turns out that he was in marching band with my son years ago, so we had a lot to chat about. After a while my car stopped hissing so I went back and found my baseball cap to shield my sunburned face from further damage.
Earlier, I'd met my husband for supper and we'd bought a flat of plants for the garden--tomatoes and peppers and a lone pot of rosemary--and then he'd stayed in town to run some errands while I drove home with the plants on the back seat. When I hit the deer the flat went flying but the plants remained intact, and so did everything else inside the car, although things were not where I'd expected them to be.
But my beautiful car!
This is the second time I've wrecked a car by hitting a deer (thought not, obviously, the same deer). The last time, in 2018, I encountered a deer on a dim morning on our narrow country road, where we see deer all the time. The car was still driveable but, because of its age, the insurance company considered it totalled. This time the deer appeared out of nowhere right in front of me in bright sunlight on a state highway where I was driving 55 miles per hour in what passes for heavy traffic in our neck of the woods, but somehow I didn't hit anything other than the deer.
And what about the deer? It disappeared entirely, and I'd assume it was a phantom if it hadn't left behind some tufts of fur on the hood of my car.
I've been relishing the thought of having not much pressing work this summer, no eye surgeries or funerals to plan, no major home improvement projects, but now I face a task I hadn't expected: shopping for a car. The insurance adjuster hasn't looked at the car yet but from what I told him on the phone he suggested that it's probably toast, which I am inclined to believe. I have seen the crumpled hood and heard the hissing and I don't envision ever getting inside that car again.
I loved that car and I dread the thought of finding another that I can love as well, but what can I do? This is the cost of living among deer--and at least I managed to walk away from the wreck with nothing worse than a few bruises. I hate to think what happened to the deer.
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