I have an instant and strong urge to reassure her that it’s okay, even though I haven’t any idea whether I’m really okay, she’s injured, or if our cars are trashed. Waving my hands, I get her attention, then point to the gas station she’s exiting, a questioning look on my face. She must get my meaning, and she jerkily nods her agreement.

I find that I can at least put my car into low gear and limp forward, twisting my steering wheel to counter the list I’ve developed. Obviously, something’s twisted in my frame. She does the same, her sedan making an ugly squealing, screeching sound as metal rubs against metal somewhere in her engine compartment.

Once parked at the edge of the gas station parking lot, I do a quick self-check. My hands curl and uncurl without pain, and while my neck and shoulders are sore, nothing’s grating. I’m gonna need a couple of Advil, a long, hot shower, and maybe a visit to the massage chair in the mall, but I don’t think I need a hospital.

I climb out, walking up to the woman’s door. “You okay?”

She blinks, staring vacantly at her hands which are now wrapped around the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. I knock on the window, and she jumps as though surprised I’m standing here.

She seems to be in shock, or at least on the verge of it.

“Do you need an ambulance? Are you okay?” I’m already pulling my phone out to make the call, but the question seems to wake her from her trance and she reaches down to turn the car off. She opens her door, and I step back to give her room and try again. “Hey, you good?”

“I can’t believe I hit you.” The insurance representative in my mind automatically stores away that she just admitted fault. But there’s an undercurrent of something that sounds like fear in her tone. She’s scared shitless over something besides a car accident.

Suddenly, she blinks as if waking from a long sleep, and her eyes go aggressively cold, almost mechanically scanning my body, head to toe and back up again as words pour past her lips at lightning speed. “Oh, my God, are you okay? Broken bones, blood? There’s probably internal bleeding, or you might have a concussion. We should call an ambulance.”

Her nod makes it seem like she’s agreeing with my suggestion on the need for some expert help here, but it’s odd that she’s overly concerned about me considering I’m standing here just fine and she hasn’t moved from the driver seat yet.

“I’m fine,” I reassure her, even squatting down in her open door to get to her level, “but I’m not sure you are. Do you hurt anywhere? How’s your head?”