I've spent the last fifteen years blaming myself, blaming someone else, and blaming the road. I have tried to recount the events over and over and over again. I have stood at the location for hours. I have driven past, traveling in all directions, many times. At times it almost seems as if the image I have in my head is the reality, and I have to remind myself that I have no memory of the accident. It’s almost as if I’m making up stories for why I’m still here. I’m sure of one thing - The accident didn't happen because I did or didn't have a helmet on.
For years I tried to blame the city for poor road maintenance because I learned, after the accident, that the streetlights weren't working. Since the accident was at night, maybe I couldn’t see the road. That could be the reason. Also, the paint that divided the road had worn away. This could be the reason, as well. I couldn't see the edge of the road. And the biggest excuse of them all is that the signs on the side of the road, that indicated that the