Aaron reflects on a car accident that occurred during college and the surreal series of events that followed—from spaghetti dinners to unexpected twists. This 7 Minute Story explores resilience, forgiveness, and the small moments that linger long after.
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
TRANSCRIPT
Aaron Calafato:
Happy New Year!
Is it too late to say happy new year? It’s January 9th. I think I’m still in the zone either way. Happy new year! We’re also celebrating not just a new year and more weekly stories, but also our 300th episode—or maybe it’s the 301st, whatever—but we’ve surpassed 300 episodes. Thank you, the listener—all of you. We’ve reached over 30 million ears and counting with these stories. So let’s keep it going.
The Story:
I’m looking out this little window in my basement studio. It’s just above ground, and I can crack it open. Through it, I can see the snowflakes falling. We’re definitely in the bleak midwinter, and these snowflakes—they’re the lightest I’ve ever seen. It’s like little pieces of ripped-up tissue paper floating, trying to reach the ground.
It reminds me of the snowflakes that were falling the same day I got hit by a car.
It wasn’t just me who got hit—it was a group of us. But I took the impact. I was a freshman in college, and a group of us from the fourth floor of our dorm had two missions that day: get furniture for my buddy from a thrift store and go to a spaghetti dinner at a church because the food was free and we were starving.
First, we got the furniture and loaded it into this beat-up Ford Escort. It had a hatchback, and since I was the smallest, I sat in the trunk holding the furniture to keep it from scratching the windows. Priorities, right?
We were heading down the main street and stopped at a light. I was holding on to the furniture for dear life—no seatbelt, of course. I’d kill my kids if they ever did something like that. I looked out the window, and there were those snowflakes again, the same kind falling right now.
Then—boom. Impact.
You know when people say they feel like they’ve been hit by a car? I literally was. Somehow, by the grace of God, I didn’t die. The car that hit us was going about 30 miles per hour, right into the back of our hatchback. The metal crumpled around me, but the furniture I was holding actually shielded me. Still, the bumper caved in and hit my lower back.
We all crawled out of the car. Everyone else was fine, but I was shaken up. I didn’t get knocked out, but I started doing a body audit. Was I bleeding internally? I had just watched a show on The Learning Channel about someone who didn’t get checked out after an accident and died weeks later from internal bleeding.
The police and ambulance showed up. A cop asked if I wanted a ride to the hospital, but I hesitated. I was hurt, but all I could think about was how hungry I was. Starving, really. The spaghetti dinner was calling my name.
A friend from the dorm came to pick us up. My plan? Go to the church, eat, and then head to the emergency room. Logical, right? We ate like kings—spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread for days. Then we finally went to the ER.
The doctor asked, “Why didn’t you come here right after the accident?”
I said, “I was hungry.”
Luckily, no internal bleeding, though I was still suspicious. I went back to the dorm and slept for what felt like two days straight.
When I woke up, I was starving again. I went to the student union for a barbecue steak sandwich—my favorite. As I was paying, I looked up and saw her. The woman who hit us with her car.
I squinted. Was I imagining this? But no, it was her. She looked at me, started tearing up, and mouthed, “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell on me.” Her manager was behind her, and I realized she was terrified of losing her job.
Part of me wanted to call her out, but instead, I just paid for my sandwich and told her to take care.
I went back to that spot the next week, but she wasn’t there. Or the week after. I never saw her again. I’ve thought about her over the years. Sometimes, I can still see her face in my mind, framed by those weird, light snowflakes.
That week, I was the one who got hit by a car, but I’ve always wondered if, in the end, I was the one who got the better deal.
I’ll talk to you next week.
