The Day I Got Hit By A No. 7 by Sharon Wilson

The day I got hit by a bus I wasn’t wearing any knickers. Now, how many times has your mother told you, to be sure to be wearing your best underwear as ‘you never know’! I don’t usually go ‘commando’ but I had been working and staying in Glasgow for a few days and that Friday morning I had simply pulled on my jeans, stuffed my pants in my bag and got on with the day.

I had been distributing a magazine to bars and restaurants all over Glasgow with my friend Anna. We finished about teatime and went back to her flat in the West End for a couple of glasses of wine, literally, and then I caught the bus back to Edinburgh. It was one of those evenings where I probably could’ve drank more,  but I got the feeling that Anna wanted rid of me, we were good friends, still are, in fact she recently DJ’d at my wedding, but I had outstayed my welcome and Andy , a new man, was on the scene.

It was February, a particularly dark and miserable month, even for Scotland. I was single and had been for about three years now after breaking up with my ex who, in my imagination and maybe in reality, was living it up in the south of France with an unbelievably sexy, young French girl.  I had had some pretty desperate and unwise affairs, but anything more interesting eluded me. As I boarded the bus at Buchanan Street I was tired, physically and emotionally. On the plus side I was a little high from the wine, but by the time I got to St Andrews Bus Station in Edinburgh I was perfectly sober and just wanting to get back to my lovely flat in Leith.

The town was bustling; colourful Friday night faces loomed through the thick Edinburgh harr which travels up to the city from Leith. At the top of Broughton Street the smell of Piccante’s chips beckoned but I hurried on past Poprockit and Guilianos. I can’t for the life of me remember why I wanted to cross the road. I should have been catching a 7, 14 or 11 down Leith Walk on the same side of the road but I stepped off of the pavement just down from the pedestrian crossing. The next sensation I felt was inexplicably weird.

I brushed what felt like a cobweb from my right cheek. I’ve never understood why what was happening felt like this. Perhaps, thinking of it now, it is because a cobweb can send shivers down your spine and maybe that was what was happening. I really didn’t know what had hit me but after a zillionth of a second I realized it was a No.7, magnified to an extent you couldn’t imagine; but I can remember.  I am lifted and hurtle through the air.

Because my life was ‘difficult’, I had been reading Buddhism, specifically the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. The Buddhists realize that death is a fundamental part of life. It is always present and as such we should acknowledge and accept it. A benefit of this is that it makes us live every day as if it is our last. Not in the sense that you should live a debauched life but you should acknowledge the preciousness of every moment. If you do this, when death comes it is easier to accept it, that’s my interpretation anyhow. Breathing helps too. Later, as they bundled me into the ambulance the paramedics commented that my pulse never rose above 76; but back to being hit. As I flew through the air I remember simply thinking ‘this is it’, nothing more profound than that. I was quite calm but I did of course hit the ground and that was a bit sore.

A crowd gathered. I hadn’t travelled far and the waiters from Guilianos stood, arms crossed, watching and chatting, quite the thing whilst I lay on my back. I remember silently cursing them for their casual voyeurism. My left side ached a bit. A man knelt by my side, took my hand, and asked me my name and where I lived. Another man in the crowd commented ‘I know her! She writes really good reviews’. I recognized him as a guy called Liam from Monster Mash, the retro British themed restaurant in Forrest Road. I had eaten some really tasty sausages and mash there about three weeks earlier and written about it.  Then a woman piped up ‘I’m a nurse, hen, can you not find an easier way to meet men!’ I laughed and then realized that I had landed directly opposite CC Blooms, a famous gay pub. Elliott, the gorgeous guy with curly hair holding my hand, was gay as were many of the other men cooing over me. Wonderful, I thought as I waited for the ambulance, life really can’t get any better!

The day after I was hit by a bus, I got a No.7 home from the hospital. As I lay on the couch in shock, my future husband called me to arrange our first date.

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