To you, that fortunate jogger who narrowly avoided getting smashed by my automobile yesterday:
You are fortunate.
You have no idea how fortunate you are.
Probably you don’t even know how close to death you came. Or, if not coming to death per se, then to serious injury. Serious enough that any health benefits of your jogging regimen would pale in comparison.
After it happened – or, rather, didn’t happen – I had half a mind to turn the car around. To chase you down. To stop you and to say, “Gather your loved ones around you, sir! Celebrate! For today you have cheated death! Surely this is a day to be remembered!”
It was no thanks to me, though. Your survival, I mean.
In fact, it was despite me.
It happened like this:
I was on Jackson Boulevard, waiting to turn right onto Montrose. Many cars were traveling left to right. You, with your ear buds and your neon green running shorts, were jogging right to left.
Any responsible driver would have seen you coming from half a mile away. I did not see you coming.
Instead, seeing the tiniest of breaks in the flow of traffic – paltry, really, and certainly not large enough for a car to enter from a stop – I punched the gas and, without checking to my right, went for it.
I saw a neon green blur mere inches from my driver’s side window.
That was you. Fortunate you.
You didn’t even look back. I know because I checked my rearview as soon as I’d removed my hand from my face.
I place my hand back on my face now every time I think of that green blur barely clearing my front bumper.
The green blur that was you. Fortunate you.
I just thought that you should know.