Hit and run: what would you have done?

Earlier today walking home in the rain, I felt this nudge to avoid walking under the bridge area.

I’ve come to trust those nudges.

I owe much of my journey to heeding them.

So I paused. I usually walk under the bridge to get to my apartment.

But it was so clear to me: “Tre, don’t go yet.”

Standing there in the next two minutes, I witness a huge Cadillac Escalade heading west on Rte 9 try to take the right turn from the middle lane onto the northbound ramp for the Riverway .

One problem.

Escalade failed to see the cars in the lane to the right of her, in between her vehicle and the Riverway on ramp.

As she turned right, the car to her right swerved. But in avoiding her, he careened into the bridge of the Jamaicaway that goes over Rte 9.

Thankfully, he slammed on his brakes but he still hit the bridge.

She paused. She looked at him. She then sped off.

And I’m witnessing all of this.

I copied down her license plate #.

I turn back to the scene.

By then a crowd of neighbors was checking on the other driver who thankfully appeared fine.

In those moments, 3 things were in my thought:

a. Hope that the driver was not injured.

b. Gratitude I heeded the nudge not to walk under the bridge.

b. Alertness defending that I’d know what to do next, that I didn’t have anything to fear, this was my neighborhood, these were my neighbors, I wanted to help, I could trust that.

In moments like this, some may feel the weight of societal conditioning that isolates us, marginalizes us, sways us not to get involved in other people’s business.

But I didn’t feel an ounce of that.

Rather I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for the driver, especially when I saw the SUV speed off.

And for a few fleeting moments, I felt an anger rush of “How dare her?” followed by the urge to go run over to the driver of the Escalade, now stopped at a traffic light that turned red as she sped off away from the accident.

But common sense told me I’d have little impact on her, she was probably shocked and nervous and whatever else one feels when they’re avoiding responsibility. And I doubted whether one moment waiving her back would have any impact. Instead, although mayhem seemed everywhere, I defended I’d know how to proceed as would everyone else.

I let her go out of my thinking and focused on him. And how I could help.

I approached him.

No one else had seen the plate number. So I gave it to him.

He looked so relieved. He had a tear in his eye. “Can you believe she just took off? What if I was hurt?”

Indeed.

Now in fairness to the woman who left the scene, I have zero idea what was going on in her thoughts.

Maybe the vehicle wasn’t hers.

Maybe her license was expired or her insurance unpaid.

Maybe this was her one hour to herself the entire week, all hell’s broken out at home and she reached her limit on whatever else she can handle.

Or more realistic, she simply could have been panicked, feeling alone and not knowing what to do, so leave the scene.

I won’t ever know her rationale for choosing to drive off.  But I do know she left the scene of a problem she caused.  And I’ve been there. In high school I backed up into a car in the parking lot and drove away without telling the driver of that car. Not good. Not right. And I never did anything about it.

But today, something pulled at me not to simply be a passerby and bail the opportunity to help.

Back to the driver.

He placed a call to the police to report the accident.

I stood by his side and just kept my thoughts calm.

I was actually just defending in my thought that this was a neighbor, I would stay and help him however he needed. I was also defending that he would feel that support and that this would calm his own shock.

I helped steer him to a safer spot to leave his car.  Firemen arrived and a great guy nick-named “Bear” approached the driver.

First asked if he was hurt and needed the hospital. Negative.

Next asked if he’d phoned the police. He already had.

Bear, the fireman, did so as well.

Next, Bear gave the driver his advice.  He recommended the driver use triple A if he had it, get the car towed, and report the incident himself in person at a police station. He gauged that that time of day with all the rain and all the other incidents around the city, it would be a while before the police would show up.

Bear asked the driver if he had insurance–he did. Bear assured the driver the insurance company would take care of contacting the other driver’s insurance company once identified.

Bear then turned to me and asked who I was. And I told him I was a neighbor and witness.

He then turned to the driver and said “Take her info down.”

We already had exchanged all that.

The driver turned to me and compassionately asked to use a bathroom.

I took him mine, as it was the closest one to the scene, the firemen waited with the car.

I gave him a bottle of water. By then he’d calmed down and thanked me.

He seemed to fully be 100% alert and aware at that point.

I asked about his Spanish, I asked where he was from. (Being from Miami, I’m so familiar that there’s loads of different types of Spanish and I’m always interested in what I’m hearing). He was from Dominican Republic. I’ve been there so we talked about the island a bit. Then Haiti and the earthquake and how many were helping from his country.

He made a few more phone calls, reached his uncle who works for a tow company, who agreed to come get the car.

By then Bear agreed the driver was all set.

The driver turned and thanked me and we parted ways.

The fire-guys took off and they waived back to me as they did.

I looked at my clock on my phone. Only 45 minutes had passed since all that happened.

All the while I had options, right?

I could have completely dodged the whole thing. Wasn’t my immediate situation really.

I could have ignored the nudge to get the plate number of the Escallade.

I could have avoided all involvement and justified my isolation convincing myself it wasn’t my business, I had other things to do, a dog to care for. And most people would buy that.

But my heart knew otherwise: this was my neighborhood.

Just one week prior on the same street–Huntington Avenue–about 20 yards east, a tragic fatal bike accident occurred.

Many of us have been walking around more than concerned about the chaotic flow of traffic.

I care about the safety of all in the neighborhood.

I live here. To me, it is my business.

For all of those reasons, I chose to be involved.

And now I know a couple of neighborhood fire guys and another neighbor, as it turns out, the driver lives a few blocks over.

Sure, my bit of help doesn’t change the fact the other driver bailed. And it doesn’t change the fact the incident occurred.

Stuff like that happens.

But in that moment of coming together to problem solve, the driver, the fireman and I shared a bit of humanity.

And as we parted ways, the city felt a tad bit warmer, friendlier, more neighborly.

I felt it.

And I’m pretty certain the others did too.

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What would you have done?