My Little Blue Bug

     I have always wanted a Beetle.  As far back as I can remember, that has been the car of my dreams.  I used to draw them, I collected Beetle figurines, and I told everyone that it was the car for me.  After college, I began my first teaching job and needed a car that was more reliable than my old '87 Sundance.  I found a good deal on a reliable Cavalier, and that became my new vehicle.  Sure, it was no Beetle, but it was my favorite color, and was a sharp looking car.  A few years later, as I was driving home from work, I hit an icy patch on the road.  I tapped the brakes and spun into the side of a school bus.  No one was hurt, and while the bus had no damage, my car was totaled.  It was a frightening accident, but it was over quickly, and I moved on.
     With my insurance money, savings, and a car loan, I was finally able to get my dream car, a 2000 VW Beetle.  It was blue, and newish, and drove beautifully.  It is hard to explain my connection to this car.  I had wanted one for so long, and I really had to work to get it.  But I was able to purchase it by myself, with my income; it was mine.  My Little Blue Bug.  I decided to name him Sydney, and we went everywhere together.  Though it was a small car, I was always able to impress people, including myself, on what it was able to haul - an eight piece drum kit, numerous Christmas trees, an apple tree, TVs, guitars, amps, you name it.  I drove that car packed to the nines to help my sister move out of state.  I used it to move myself after my husband and I bought a house, and after we had kids, we fit two car seats in the back. Though it was aging, my Little Blue Bug became the family vehicle.
     Last April, we had an ice storm.  The roads were incredibly slippery.  I had my two kids (ages 3 and 1) in their car seats in the back and one of my co-workers in the passenger seat.  They had recently redone a section of an overpass on the freeway.  The intent was to make it ice up less, but the plan failed, and it was now the slipperiest part of the freeway.  I was going slow, but as I rounded the corner and hit the ice, I started to spin.  Fortunately, I had gained a lot of driving experience since my accident so many years ago.  I managed to straighten the car out. I thought we were fine and then BAM! We hit more ice, slid again, and hit the guard rail.  It was sudden, jolting, and intense.  When I looked up, all I could see out the windshield was the drop off past the guard rail.  We were up high.  It was icy. The kids were crying.  The car was mostly on the shoulder, but perpendicular to the road.  I could not move it.  My co-worker called 911 immediately, but there were many accidents, and the police did not respond.
     Generally, when one has an accident, and the car was not in a safe location, it would make sense to leave the vehicle and move well away from the road.  This was not possible for us on the overpass.  We discussed our options.  I called my husband and my father-in-law.  We were trying to figure out what to do.  I did my best not to panic, not to get upset, not to scare my children even further.  But it was hard to think straight.  I wanted so badly to scoop my kids up and tell them everything would be okay, but I knew it was not safe to take them out of their car seats.  As we were discussing our options, BAM! another car slammed into the driver side of the car.  We screamed.  The car was pushed even closer to the drop off on the other side of the guard rail.  My coworker called 911 again, begging and pleading to have someone respond to our accident.  I needed to get my kids out of the car.  My whole body ached from the collision, my kids were shrieking.  We were terrified.  We spent another frightening 45 minutes on the overpass, watching cars and trucks fishtail all around us, waiting for another collision.  We watched as a semi roared passed us, largely out of control.  We held hands and waited for the impact.  It just missed us.  The police never came.
     The ordeal on the bridge finally ended when my coworker's husband made it and parked his truck in the way to force cars into the other lane.  My husband pulled up in front of us, nearly fell on the ice as he got out of his car, and we quickly carried the kids from my broken Beetle to his car.  The ice was so thick we could barely keep our feet under us, and we had to quickly move our frightened little girls from one car to the next, past the drop off, cars swerving by us.  I have never been so scared in my life.  The kids were buckled into my husband's car, and he slowly made his way to his parents' house.  My co-worker and I got into her husband's truck, and soon after the tow-truck arrived to take my Bug.  The police never came.
    Later, as I was dealing with my broken Bug, the guy at the collision center told me how luck we had been to be in that little Beetle.  He boasted about how well they were built, how safe they were, and said it would have been a much worse accident had we been in a different car.  It's a frightening thought.  When I close my eyes at night, I still see myself on that overpass.  Only in my nightmares, we are thrown from the vehicle and off the bridge.  Sometimes, the semi doesn't miss us and flattens us.  For the sake of everyone in the car that day, I am thankful for having that Little Blue Bug.