When the Music Stopped

The last song I expected to hear during a car crash was Super Bass by Nicki Minaj. I was nineteen and on my way to the gym, singing along loudly while I was stuck in traffic. One moment I was laughing at how into it I was, and the next I felt my seatbelt lock across my chest as my body lurched forward and my head slammed into the headrest. The crash was sudden and jarring. I wasn’t seriously injured, but it forced me to rethink what it means to be a responsible driver.

Immediately after the impact, my attention turned to the traffic around us. My SUV and the other driver’s sedan were stopped in the middle of a fast-moving road, and cars were swerving, braking, and trying to get by. I felt helpless watching it unfold, worried that we had created even more risk by being stuck there. My neck was tight from whiplash and my head was already pounding, but the most pressing concern was my car. It had been a Christmas gift from my parents two years earlier. It was a gift that I was incredibly proud and grateful for. Knowing that it was now damaged felt like I had failed my parents.

The first thing I did was call my dad. He stayed calm and walked me through what to do. I called the police, gathered my documents, and waited. His focus helped me regain my own. The other driver, another young woman, stood near her car in tears. She was a year younger than me, and her sedan had taken the brunt of the collision. I had always felt awkward driving an SUV as a teenage girl, but in that moment, I was grateful for the extra protection it gave me.

At the hospital, my dad had to return to work, so I waited alone until my mom arrived. The moment she walked in, I saw the panic in her eyes. A year earlier, I had been hospitalized for a serious illness. That experience had left a deep mark on her, and being back in that environment brought those feelings back. The doctors said my concussion was mild and I just needed rest, but I could tell nothing would ease her fear until she saw me walk out safely.

That moment changed the way I thought about driving. I did everything I was supposed to do. I wasn’t texting on my phone or speeding. Regardless, the crash still happened. It made me realize that safe driving isn’t just about avoiding tickets or checking boxes. It’s about understanding how quickly things can go wrong and how deeply those consequences ripple outward.

Teen drivers face serious challenges. We lack experience, and we’re often unaware of how quickly a situation can escalate. On top of that, distractions are constant. Phones buzz with notifications. Music pulls focus. Social pressure makes it hard to speak up when something feels unsafe. I’ve seen people my age treat driving like background noise, something that doesn’t require their full attention. It does.

Driver’s education can help bridge that gap, but it has to go beyond the basics. Traffic laws matter, but they aren’t enough on their own. What leaves a lasting impression are real stories, like accounts from people who have lived through crashes or lost someone to one. After my own accident, I didn’t need statistics to understand the seriousness of the road. I had my mom’s face in my memory. That was enough.

Since that day, I’ve changed how I drive. I give myself more space. I slow down sooner. I silence my phone before starting the engine. If someone follows too closely, I let them pass. These habits aren’t dramatic, but they’re intentional and they make a difference. I believe more teens would take these same precautions if we created a culture where that kind of driving was expected.

There’s also work to be done in schools and communities. Schools could create more space for peer conversations, where students reflect on their own habits and hear from people who’ve been directly affected by crashes. Communities could run campaigns that focus less on penalties and more on what’s at stake. Small gestures, like a dashboard reminder or a personal story shared in class, can shift someone’s thinking.

Today, I know that being a safe driver means more than keeping myself from harm. It means remembering that every time I get behind the wheel, someone is counting on me to make it home.