The following is a poem I wrote the day after I witnessed my classmate get hit by a car. It was the end of sixth grade. It’s one of those flashbulb memories I can’t quite forget. I feel bad for my 12-year-old self, even though I was physically okay. I remember watching it all unfold, being one of the first to cross the street and see if he was alright.

He ended up getting over a dozen broken bones, several of which were in his face. He turned out okay though; we sat a few seats over from each other at graduation.

The Collision – June 2014

Seeing it happen
In front of your eyes
You can see him fly,
But not like a bird;

He falls to the ground.
Paralyzed.
You pray for help—
Good thing it comes—
Because you’re shocked,
You can’t believe it.

You’re:
Paralyzed.

I would like to apologize to my self from that day and the days after:

You went home that day after talking to the cops, having told them what you saw. You had never spoken to the police before. You were at that age where you could only sort of do things without your parents—so that was especially stressful—but I’m sure you helped them as much as you could.

I don’t remember if you cried that day.

You decided to write a few poems to cope, and they’re actually not that bad. I would say that’s a pretty dweeby coping mechanism, but I’m the one writing poetry for a college publication. It’s funny how those poems went from being unread for years to being published. Writing had been almost a chore until that day, and since then I’ve seen it differently. It teaches me about the real world, lets me imagine new worlds, and lets me think about my own world, my own mind. It might actually be the ultimate coping mechanism.

I’m sorry you went through that, but I’m impressed that you realized the power writing holds at such a young age. We’re even in a position now where this isn’t just for yourself, but for others to read as well—your thoughts, my thoughts.