The sound it made was gross in its lack of extended sound fx. It was just a loud dull thwack. The sound of metal hitting metal, but not scraping or crunching, just a singular instance of impact. Like an enormous metal baseball bat decided to strike a bowling ball. Why? No reason. Just like there was no good reason for my Vespa to hit that car.

Instantly I found myself laying on the road, about 6-feet away from the car, my Vespa another 10-feet away on its side. I had a searing pain in my knee that grabbed my attention first. Immediately second I remembered my friend, I knew I wasn’t dead or unconscious or missing a limb… I kept craning my head around to find her and calm my fears that she was in worse condition. I stood up to try to walk and immediately collapsed; my knee was not able to support me. But as I fell I found her, she was crawling across the pavement toward me. Seeing her not upright was a scary sight, and I forgot about my knee while begging her to reassure me she wasn’t hurt. Despite the obvious fact she’d been thrown from the same vehicle as I, she wouldn’t even focus on her potential injuries. She was trying to help me, to keep me still. She seemed to not be on the verge of death, and this was reassuring. I finally looked down and tried to decipher what was going on with my body. There was hurt, it was coming from all over. The loudest voice of pain however was coming from my knee, specifically from the area that also seemed to be growing an ever-increasing circle of blood that was soaking my jeans. Against protests from those around I kept moving my knee, wanting to know for myself if it worked. I thought it did, I calmed myself. This would be OK. I need a few bandaids. My Vespa will probably still run. We’ll still make it to the concert.

There were strangers around suddenly. Everyone giving advice, calling (hopefully) emergency services on cell phones, moving people, car and Vespa parts off the road. I found myself assisted to the sidewalk where I laid down, unable to get up anymore from the pain and non-functional knee.

It was amazing how fast the firemen showed up. They arrived before the police or ambulance and tried to determine who needed the most immediate assistance. I won that prize, despite my protests that Laurie may be seriously hurt. I laid my head back, realizing my protests were flaccid and my powers to do anything but pinch my eyes to the ever increasing pain were pointless. I squinted open my eyes and saw the firemen pull out his knife, pointing it menacingly at my most comfortable pair of Diesel jeans. Never one to let a potentially life changing injury get in the way of my expensive wardrobe elements I loudly commanded the firemen “No! Don’t cut my Diesel jeans!! It’s not that bad!” The look on the fireman’s face communicated so much. That he has heard many things said by victims in his day, that he is used to ignoring such things and that regardless of his unlimited history of hearing such things I still sounded like a big idiot. So, now that his opinion was clearly conveyed non-verbally he proceeded to cut my jeans away from my leg.

It looked pretty gross. If you are reading this in a multimedia capacity, there is likely a picture or two to accompany that will illustrate such grossness. But my knee at the scene of the accident looked disgusting. Like a large animal had decided to chew my kneecap, but wandered away after a fang hit gristle and bone. And as I kept looking at my knee in growing dismay more hurts kept making themselves known. Something bad was happening on my left side. Something hurt badly in my left hand.

And throughout this whole process I still kept thinking I may make it to the concert yet. I think I still can. I was still thinking this when the ambulance came.

Once there were ambulances, and police cars and more and more institutional looking elements I became increasingly aware that I was now the participant in an actual car accident with injuries. That this whole situation may get complicated. That somebody was going to get in trouble for this (hopefully not me!), that my bag containing my typical festival concert going supplies would have to be dealt with, that I had to reenact the accident mentally to ensure that indeed I was not at fault, that I had to call my wife to tell her what happened and reassure her I was not seriously injured, that I was going to the hospital.

You don’t get a lot of choices when it comes to where the ambulance takes you. You go to the closest hospital. So I found myself at UIC, a state-run hospital. Certainly capable of administering care, but understaffed and overpopulated by a fluctuating cast of injured who at any point could waltz in with a gunshot wound to the eye and move you down the list of next to receive healthcare. It was around this time that I accepted I was not attending the concert.

I was confined to a wheelchair; Laurie was not (although she was hobbling around in a way that made me increasingly concerned she had more injuries than she was letting on. She has a history of being overly brave, the process of insisting that something doesn’t hurt her physically or emotionally or mentally making it so. Which sometimes works. Sometimes it doesn’t. I guess it depends on your physical, emotional and mental workings. It depends on the injury too.) and was sitting uncomfortably in the patient waiting area. The administrative staff working Triage lacked a friendliness chromosome (and possibly another important one or two as well). Considering that every person in that room had just been involved in some situation where they now required Emergency Room type care, you’d think the staff would err on the side of patience and consideration. However they did not.

Finally we were admitted to the ER. As luck would have it Laurie and I were positioned in curtain enclosed care areas directly adjacent to each other. We were able to overhear and chime in on each other’s conversations with doctors, nurses and really whatever. It made the entire situation a bit better.

I’m not sure where to end this particular story as the story continues on well past whatever line I write next. It is now about 2 weeks after the accident and I still find myself in leg immobilizer, left hand in a splint and pains erupting from my left side with any wrong (and trust me they are all wrong) move. So I will end it here, with a summation of injuries.

Laurie: unbelievable nasty bruising on the inner thighs. When you look at the pictures of the scooter, look at the top down picture. The seat that is moved off center is held on from three very large bolts, she moved those with the force of impact that hit her thighs when she was thrown from the bike. She also likely has a fractured wrist that she won’t go to the doctor to check out. She also may have a small broken bone in her foot that she won’t go to the doctor about. She may also have a severed spinal column that she won’t go to the doctor about. If you know her, please encourage her to go to the doctor to follow-up on these things!

Me: My knee ended up with a fractured patella (kneecap area), one torn tendon and one torn ligament. This required surgery the night of the accident (about 1am). I have a very non-fashionable immobilizer that I have to wear that covers my leg from mid calf to mid thigh. I’m still not sure how much physical therapy will be required, but I’m angry that they say I can’t ride my motorcycle (yes I also have a motorcycle, more on that in future columns I hope) for 6 weeks. I have three cracked ribs, they hurt. I treasure my cracked ribs however, as I’m pretty sure they are cracked from the impact of Laurie hitting me and therefore my injury is what kept her from hitting the car. I’m happy to be her airbag. I broke my thumb, this required surgery just last week to screw a bit of bone back on to another bit of bone. I have to wear a lovely splint and do physical therapy for at least two months.

Vespa: The poor girl might be totaled. Snapped steering column, heavily dented front cowl, damaged frame and many misc dents scrapes and whatnot. It won’t run, so lord knows what else is wrong with it. There’s a good chance it has done its last dash down Elston (a street in Chicago known for having light traffic, wide lanes and a generous slant across the city from downtown to the NW).

So, until I make some changes this column of city movement will have to find a new chapter. Your hero (me) may be back to public transport for a short while. The agony to my daily commute being potentially the gain of the reading audience. Because lord knows crazy shit happens when you make your way about the city.

P.S. To those who want to know: Eastbound on Roosevelt, two lanes going each direction, I was in the right hand lane and hit a car from the oncoming lane who was taking a left to head southbound on Morgan. I’m sure she didn’t see me, I hope not, because if she did that would have been mean.