Every October 13th has been a rough day for me since the year 2000. That year, October 13th fell on a Friday, and my life changed forever.
Traveling back to Payson, Arizona where I lived at the time from a friends house in Wilhoit, I came around a corner near the final stretch into town. A Toyota truck was turning left into an outlying neighborhood. I still swear to this day that the driver saw me, because I was watching. I swear she hesitated, and went anyway.
I applied both brakes and steered left, but I could not stop in time. I hit the side of her truck at about 45 miles per hour.
Even a year ago, I would not have been able to type those words without sweating. However, due to some great counseling over the last year, that trigger has gotten way better. It used to be that every year, I would get on a motorcycle and ride on that day, a spit in the face of fate.
I’m lucky I did not die that day. I let the bike go, and flipped through the air, landing on my right side. My shoulder was dislocated, stuck in place. For hours they thought my collarbone was broken. Around midnight, after x-rays of everything, I woke with a splint on my right thumb and was told I would be having surgery on Monday to reconstruct my thumb. It would be the first of several.
I still carry the scar on my hand, and it reminds me of the accident whenever the weather changes, often in October.
But I don’t have to be scared of this day any more. It’s not a trigger like it used to be. Yeah, I still have scars. If I don’t work it out regularly, my shoulder is painful, and my thumb hurts pretty often, since I write for a living and type all the time.
My mind is better, though. I don’t have a motorcycle at the moment, but I will probably take a long ride on my bicycle later.
Just a small spit in the eye of fate.
Troy is a freelance writer, author, and blogger who lives, works, and plays in Boise, Idaho with the love of his life and three very talented dogs.
Passionate about writing dark psychological thrillers, he is an avid cyclist, skier, hiker, all-around outdoorsman, and a terrible beginning golfer.