Personal Narrative: A Cruel World

Cruel World My mother, sister, and I were driving down Highway 124 on a hot July day when my mom screamed and slammed on the breaks. Fear rushed through our bodies. Outside the car window, a short young African American man was launched into the air. As he came down, a loud boom sounded as his body helplessly rolled off the hood of the faint green Toyota Corolla in front of us. The man lay motionless in the road while we waited for what seemed like hours for the driver to exit the car. His red shirt and gym shorts were ripped. The driver of the opposing car threw the vehicle in reverse in a spasmodic action in an attempt to end the man’s life. The injured man made an effort to crawl onto the Wendy’s sidewalk, forcing his body up on the curb to evade the car. The driver drove up onto the curb and blew its tire, just barely missing the wounded man. Realizing the driver would stop at nothing, my mother drove her white suburban in front of the car, blocking the violent perpetrator from doing any further damage. Our eyes were now locked with the driver and we could easily identify her distinct features. She was a tall, crazy-eyed African-American woman who began yelling obscenities that my eight-year old
Conflicted, I had to make a decision between listening to my mother or leaving the car to get assistance. My mother motioned to the men for help, but they stared blankly right back at her. I was in disbelief; they did nothing as my mother endangered herself to help a stranger. They had no intention to take action or to call 911. The man and woman continued to wrestle on the ground for several minutes until the man pulled off the woman’s hairpiece. Her bald head was now revealed. Humiliated, she stood and snatched her