Psychology

One time when I was in junior high school, I got home to find that my brother had bought a second hand car from the local dealership. Growing up, I had heard about the dangers of reckless driving or driving under the influence of alcohol. I developed a phobia for speed, fearing that it could involve me in a traffic accident or something. My brother, even though he did not usually drink, tended to be very daring. His adventurous spirit and childish demeanor motivated him to engage in outrageous and sometimes dangerous acts. I remember that day as he invited me into his car to drive me around the neighborhood, I did not have any worry or the faintest idea that something would go wrong.

After a stopover at the grocery store where we bought some bottled water and French fries, he suggested we take a drive over to the countryside at least to experience something new. When going out on family outings, my father would often designate him the drivers role he was a qualified driver and did not have any history of reckless driving. I therefore fully trusted him and I remember really liking the experience of being with him me and my brother.

When we hit the country road, he suggested he accelerates so he could see how fast his Ford Focus could go. I was and still am terrified of high speeds, so I reminded him to be careful. Several miles along the smooth country highway, we spotted a herd of cattle crossing about 200 meters right in front of us. Even though we managed to slow down sufficiently to let the animals cross, I observed he had struggled with the braking system. I looked at him with concern upon which he assured me that the brakes were just a bit slow to respond and we could get them fixed as soon as we got back from our detour.

A few yards down the line and we changed direction to be homebound. Well aware of the faulty brakes, we were driving at a moderate speed when from nowhere a blue pick-up truck emerged from a dusty path. The oncoming driver, unable to sufficiently turn and clear the way, quickly reversed, going directly to the space my brother was swerving into to avoid a collision. With faulty brakes, we hit the rear of the car and I flew straight out of the windscreen, landing bloodied on the hard tarmac. I groaned in pain and looked through blurry eyes to see my brother screaming in pain, stuck in the mangled wreckage of the car.

Luckily enough, we both were rescued together with the man driving the pick-up and driven to a nearby hospital where we were treated I was discharged from hospital two weeks but my brother stayed on for over a month since he had suffered multiple fractures in his right leg. Even though that incident happened some years back now, I vividly recall all the details. I think the recollection is almost perfect, because I can remember the New York Knicks jersey my brother was wearing, the look on his eyes after the crash  sometimes when I remember that incident, especially after an absent-minded spell, I think I can even smell the blood on my nose and feel the cool countryside breeze beating against my chin.