The crashes at the neighborhood corner
The latest car crash was fairly minor, though it probably didn’t feel like it to the woman driving the blue sedan that thwacked into the side of an Amazon delivery van.
We knew it was minor before we rushed outside; living near a black hole of an intersection in Greater Boston comes with the bonus of car collision sound expertise. Rarely is there the screech of tires before the thunk of impact. In the biggest accidents the screech comes after the thunk as an impacted car spins down the street. Once there was a small pause then a second, deeper impact sound when an SUV went airborne then landed squarely inside the hedges on the lawn across the street.
There’s never a honk before the thunk. If you have time to honk, you have time to stop.
Many neighbors also rush outside — even for minor wrecks — in case anyone is injured. You never know. Joe, who plays a mean accordion, is usually out there first; he lives closest. His wife, Anne, who gives me flowers on Mother’s Day, comes out when she’s feeling well; she’s had a recent health scare. Wendy, who serves Trader Joe’s scones on fancy plates, is often there, as is her husband, the beneficiary of fancy-served scones. So is the new young couple on the corner, whose fence has been driven straight through twice already since they moved in.
Once we’re sure everyone is OK and the police have been called, we stand on the corner and talk. If the accident is big, we call 911 before we come outside. Triage.
People up and down nearby streets have formed a coalition dedicated to solutions; that impact sound apparently really travels. The neighborhood is crawling with kids and dog walkers. It’s just a matter of time until someone is killed, but maybe we can prevent that. We Zoom, plans are made. The more organized among us — not me — invited local politicians to have morning coffee on the corner and maybe watch a wreck, or at least a few close calls, in real time. Another neighbor requested accident reports. Many emails were sent to City Hall.
The responses we got: A traffic light is too expensive. Speed bumps on the feeder side streets are unsafe for ambulances. Making the side streets one-way is not an option, no reason given.
A couple of years ago the city painted big white curves that extended around the corners — a representative referred to them as “pedestrian bubbles” when we called to investigate the strange street markings that had popped up overnight. Then a crosswalk appeared. Then a crosswalk with a flashing light atop a pole when a button is pushed appeared. Then, after a particularly messy accident closed most of the intersection, a frustrated driver sped around the cluster of police cars and hit a pedestrian. After that, rows of 3-foot plastic sticks appeared lining the intersection on the main street to prevent people passing in the parking lane. People just drive over those. Thwap-thwapthwap has been added to the ambient playlist. Recently mysterious but official-looking neon orange spray-painted arrows have appeared on the pavement.
After my neighbors and I make sure there are no injuries and everyone is safe, we discuss the physics of the wreck. Some are perplexing: How does someone even get enough speed to launch over a hedge? But mostly it’s the same story. Someone blew through a stop sign at the wrong time, someone else was doing nothing wrong at the same time, and thunk. Cars and lives spin in all kinds of unexpected ways.
We’re equidistant between the police station and firehouse; help is not far away. As the sirens approach, our group on the street corner talks of other things. The new couple had their baby. Wendy’s son is moving back from Nebraska. She has a puzzle to give me, she knows I’ll love it. The house of our dear neighbor across the street is going up for sale — he passed away recently after living his entire long life there. Our oldest is going to be a junior already. The lilies are amazing this year, aren’t they? We talk until the last tow truck is gone, debris has been kicked out of the street, traffic resumes, and eventually we say goodbye to wander back indoors.
The sound of the neighborhood is honking and thwhap-thwhap-thwhap and thunk, but it is also the sound of us enthusiastically greeting one another as we walk by, laughing on Zoom calls, Joe’s accordion at backyard parties, calling the neighborhood dogs by name. It’s the sound of people we know and care for rushing out to help strangers. It’s the sound of a community made stronger by the very problem we are trying so hard to fix.