It is 7:15 am. August 25th.
My best friend's wife, Catey Smith Warner, is on the sidewalk en route to the bus stop to start the first day of her last semester of college.
She dances. She is a dance major. She teaches ballet to young children.
Remember it is 7:15 am.
Before she arrives at the bus, a truck going 35 mph, swerves off of the road and strikes her. The driver is under the influence of heroine and other drugs.
He is 22.
Jeremy Warner, my friend and her husband, awakes to a phone call from the police. I awake to his phone call; to my best friend crying.
Catey breaks her nose and bones in her face, needs staples to close a head wound, and shatters her knee.
She is a dancer.
He is a drunk driver.
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