The worst day of my life

When I was 22 and driving south down I-35,
I fell asleep behind the wheel
of my Toyota Forerunner.
My best friend was driving behind me
and saw me veer off the road
and strike a truck parked on the shoulder.
My Forerunner flipped end over end
and came to rest in the grassy median,
much smaller than it was before the crash.
I was helping a friend move
from Austin to San Antonio
and carried his 50 gallon aquarium
in the back of my car.
His aquarium struck me in the back
at 60 miles an hour and broke my shoulder.
I climbed out of the smoking wreckage,
clutching my useless shoulder
and stumbled toward the road.
My friend was the first to reach me
and made me sit down in the grass.
I think I passed out for awhile.
I awoke to paramedics checking me over.
They tried to raise my right arm
and I screamed and passed out again.
I woke up in the ambulance.
One of the paramedics gave me a shot
and I started to fade away again.
I remember hearing a helicopter
before the darkness came.
I woke again in the hospital.
I was on a table on my stomach
and a woman was telling me to
breathe into a mask.
I faded away again and woke in a room.
My shoulder hurt and a doctor was there.
He told me he had placed pins in my shoulder
and that it would heal in a few months.
My friend visited me soon after.
He was worried and looked very sad.
I told him I was going to be fine in time.
He said he was glad, but that there was more
to the situation than I knew.
The truck on the shoulder was there
because of a flat tire
and the driver and passenger
were standing in front of the truck
when my Forerunner hit it.
I stared at him, confused
and suddenly worried.
Were they ok, I asked,
remembering the sound of the helicopter.
My friend came to the bed
and grasped my good left hand.
The guy who owned the truck is fine.
He broke his wrist, but nothing else.
I looked him in the eyes and asked
about the other person.
He squeezed my hand and said
his girlfriend didn’t make it.
I felt my heart tear in half
and tears well up in my eyes.
I killed a girl, I said
and turned away from my friend.
How old was she, I choked.
I didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.
They were both 21, he said.
I thought about my girlfriend in San Antonio,
the one on her way to see me.
I asked my friend to leave.
He stood there for a few moments,
turned, and walked out of the room.
I cried like I had never cried before.
I pictured my girlfriend
standing in front of the truck
on the side of the road.
In my mind’s eye, I saw her
struck and flung into the air.
I saw her in a helicopter,
medics trying furiously to save her.
I saw her die and I think I screamed.
I wished with everything within me
that I had been the one to die.