Back in 1974, I had a bad wreck.
I rolled a Subaru station wagon I owned four times and was thrown out the windshield.
I was lucky to not be hurt that bad; I had a few scratches and was sore for a couple of weeks.
When I went out the windshield I watched as the car rolled upright, which meant I had fell out behind the car, not in front of it.
The trooper that worked the wreck told me that in all of his years he had never seen anyone fall out behind the vehicle. They always fell out as the car was turning over in front of the vehicle and the vehicle rolled over them.
To this day I really don’t know exactly what happened.
It had rained that afternoon and the road was wet. They were building Interstate 10 at the time and there was a detour around a bridge on Flat Creek Road.
I remember following the detour. The next thing I know, the car was going sideways and I hit a culvert. The car started rolling over and over. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the middle of the road.
I had landed in a sitting position.
How I survived that wreck bothered me for many years. How could I have been so lucky as to basically walk away from such an ordeal.
I went to the emergency room that night and was checked over. My tail bone was sore; the doctor said that was from the way I had probably landed. He warned me that when I reached my 50s it would probably bother me. He was right, by the way.
Surviving that wreck allowed me to have two kids and a lot of experiences, mostly good and a few bad over the years.
I finally realized that it had been God’s hand that sat me on that damp road that night unharmed.
There really is no other explanation.
Byron Spires is a retired newspaper editor. He has written dozens of short stories and serials in the Havana Herald. He recently published “The Curious Life of Marci Bell: Part I,” in a series of three books. You can contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.