The Girl on The Roadside

It’s hard to be twenty-one in Atlanta. I’m a struggling student in the city with little to my name besides my monthly Marta pass and my old learner’s permit. When I’m out in the winter rain, being sprayed by cars, squinting through the weather, and praying for the bus, I always wish I had my own car. Life is hard without it. Buses are canceled, and trains are delayed. I run, I walk, I limp, I cry and repeat. I’m out on the side of the street much later than I want. I mean, literally, there’s rarely a sidewalk.

Metro Atlanta is made for vehicles. We also are considered to have one of the most dangerous roads in America. The danger isn’t isolated to just the highways because before they get on the freeway, those dangerous drivers are prowling the street. Often, I am trekking painfully along the side of the road, glancing over my shoulder like a fugitive to check for incoming cars. Every year, the city police respond to tens of thousands of accident scenes, but when people think of a car accident, they often think of two cars. Careless driving affects everyone. Worse, there’s hardly a collision when a pedestrian walks away okay. A phrase you’ll more likely hear is “struck and killed.” It’s a real issue. Since starting my college commute, I’ve been almost killed more times than I can count by distracted drivers. I’m not embarrassed to look five or six times before crossing the street and keep glancing around even as I walk.

Once, I came at a short crossing, an exit of a small plaza with a car idling inside it. The driver’s neck was craned in the other direction, obviously looking for a chance to pull into the incoming traffic. He was not watching the sidewalk. There was a woman in the passenger seat; she also watched the road. It was a one-way exit, not a long crossing, a hop, skip, and a jump, and I would’ve crossed, but I didn’t. I stood and waited. It was a busy road and a difficult left turn. The driver’s head bobbed inside the car impatiently as he tried to inch further out. We all sat at a stalemate; no one turned and noticed me. Experience taught me patience. I am a pedestrian, and every day, I learn more about drivers on the road. I knew what was about to happen. What’s fascinating is that even the wife’s eyes were fixed on the road beyond them. It was amazing; her bad habit was so ingrained that she didn’t look out the other window, even riding as a passenger.

The endangerment of citizens on the roadside is not spoken about enough. Drivers can be near-sighted. This is why I don’t feel uncomfortable speaking up about bad driving habits even without my license. My experience offers a perspective. At that moment, waiting alongside the road, watching them through the windows, I was the living embodiment of the outside looking in. The couple was so focused on cars twenty yards away that they didn’t look right in front of their own bumper. In the end, he saw a traffic gap, tried to gun into it, and, suddenly noticing me, slammed on the brakes so quickly that the car did a comical little bounce. It was too late. Or it would have been if I wasn’t still standing on the sidewalk with a knowing stare.

These days, the wrong step can end my life, and even the right step could cost me it. Speeding cars are much scarier when you’re not the one inside them. In my chronicles of being a grounded adult, I’ve noticed that the driver’s seat can give a false sense of security, which the sidewalk cannot. There’s a cognitive disassociation from the danger of driving. It’s in the mundanity of it, the cozy driver’s seat, the noise cancellation that stifles out the sound of the world hurtling by. Intersections are a nightmare of entitlement and impatient. Speeding up at yellow lights and blowing through right turns is incredibly reckless. Many times, someone will say, “Well, they’re nice enough to give me a ride. I shouldn’t say anything about their speeding.” But it’s important that we hold each other accountable. I will continue to speak out about this because I found there are not many license-less voices involved in the conversation. I will not make the same mistakes I see every day.

It would be a privilege and a blessing to have a car. I found this scholarship looking at adult driving lessons. We all have our own timelines; not having a car is not something I would have chosen had I been able to decide. It can be incredibly frustrating and very, very scary out on the roadside. Yet I have no doubt that living on the other side of the spectrum has given me a valuable perspective on being a safe driver. I know that my time now will serve me when I get my license later. I will be a better driver for it.