the accident: part three

No guest blogger available yet, so I'll continue the saga...
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It's rare that all the American missionaries and volunteers are at, or near, the same place at the same time. Throughout each day we have different responsibilities - errands, meetings, pick-ups, drop-offs - that carry us to various parts of the city. Furthermore, as much as we work in our office, the phone rarely rings, and when it does we usually aren't there to answer the call. Therefore, Kelly answering my phone call was a miracle, and what followed our conversation was also a miracle.

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"I had an accident...worse than the first..." I sputter.

the Santa Fe

"Where?" Kelly asks.

"At the triangle."

No other questions. No hesitation. "I'll be right there."
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Kelly hangs up the phone, flies out of the office, leaving her unfinished e-mail glowing on the computer screen, office door wide open, and barrels up two flights of stairs to the garage, yelling, "Paulino, hay un carro? (Paulino, is there a car?)"

"El pick-up (the truck)!" Paulino throws her the keys and dashes to open the garage door.

Kelly glances at the group of Americans standing by the front door and decides not to say anything. My mom, my aunt, our friend Maria, and her nephew, who are dropping off donations at the Home, continue chatting, completely unaware.

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After I hang up, the police again try to solicit coherent information from me, but I don't know how to answer them. I don't know, and to this day still don't know, exactly what happened, so they encourage me to sit in the back of their pick-up truck to calm down (how is being placed in the back of a police vehicle supposed to help me calm down?)

Right as I sit down, I see our microbus, Eric driving, Rachel, Brittany and kids inside, driving up the hill. Will they recognize our Santa Fe? Will they not? What if they do? Do I want them to? A million thoughts race through my head in a matter of seconds.

I watch realization dawn on their faces as they slowly pass the crash site, necks craned out the windows to get a better look. I catch Eric's eye and give a pathetic wave through the police truck's back window. I must look like a guilty criminal.
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Later, Rachel informed me their conversation went something like this:

front wheel

Eric, joking, "Hey, what if that's our Santa Fe?" Pause.

Trying to convince himself his eyes were deceiving him, "That's not our Santa Fe." Pause.

Panicking, "That's our Santa Fe!"

Brittany, "No, that's not our Santa Fe."

Rachel, "Does our Santa Fe have an air freshener in the front window?"

Eric, "Yes! That's our Santa Fe!"

(Enter my pathetic waving.)

Eric, "Should I turn around?"

Rachel, "PULL OVER!"

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Rachel and Tio Julio (one of our caregivers) jump out of the micro and rush to my side. Within thirty seconds Kelly arrives. Another thirty seconds passes, Maria and her nephew pass by the scene, recognize Rachel, pull over and also rush to my aide. Had they left the Home fifteen minutes earlier, as they planned, they would have missed everything.

Everyone happening to be in the area and arriving within sixty seconds to help me: MIRACLE.