I was sitting in the passenger seat of our sparkling white, 2010 Impala. The sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy, and the sun was glistening; it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. A dance practice had been scheduled early in the afternoon, leading us to the studio a few miles North. Everything seemed perfect in a sense. My mom continued in driving us down the left lane of the highway. Walmart was ahead, sitting on the side of the road. I remember leaning down, only a few yards before we passed the big blue and white store, to grab my dance shoes. That was when it all happened. My whole life shifted. Ramming into the side of our vehicle, a car violently pushed us to the left. Our vehicle filled with smoke, the airbags burst, and the perfection faded from the day. Completely startled, I examined my body to make sure there was not an evident injury that I was not yet aware of. In a moment, my eyes shot over to the drivers seat to assure myself of my mom’s safety. We were both in fair condition, only extremely shaken up. At the time, I felt no pain. The ambulances and patrol cars had begun to arrive, and everything seemed to be lightening up. A familiar car pulled up to the scene, a friend and her mother. My mom wanted to get me out of the congestion that held half of the highway. I was directed to go and ride with my friend to dance, considering I seemed to be of good health despite what previously occured only a fourth of an hour ago.

I remember that dance rehearsal. There