Done Waiting

I guess it's a defiant kind of night.

Or maybe it's just that I've finally run out of patience.

Back in May, I noticed an article on my employer's homepage about bicycle safety. Great. Seriously, I'm glad they published it. Bicyclists deserve to make it home safely too. But May is also Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month here in New Mexico, and after searching our internal website, I couldn't find a goddamned thing about motorcycles.

That fucking bothered me.

At the time, I was still recovering from a motorcycle crash that very nearly killed me. Our institution prides itself on safety. We preach safety. We celebrate safety. We encourage employees to think about safety on the job, off the job, and even during their commute.  Hell, we're encouraged to report unsafe behavior we witness on the way to work. Safety is woven into the fabric of the place.

Unless, apparently, you ride a motorcycle.

So I did what I always do. I started writing.

I reached out to managers I know. One of them pointed me toward the person responsible for the homepage. I wrote a thoughtful email explaining why I believed motorcycle safety deserved attention during Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month. I even included a simple sentence saying that if I'd contacted the wrong person, could they please point me toward the right one.

Then I waited.

Two weeks went by.

Nothing.

Not a reply. Not an acknowledgment. Not even the courtesy of, "Hey Kate, this isn't my area."

So I followed up.

Again... Nothing.

A few weeks ago my boss happened to be meeting with that same person. He asked about my email during the meeting.

She ignored him too.

What the actual fuck.

This morning I decided I'd been knocking on the wrong door. I reached out to the laboratory's Motorcycle Safety Committee instead.

They responded almost immediately.

Immediately.

Somebody actually listened.

Tonight I sat down and wrote three different motorcycle safety articles. They can publish one. They can rewrite all three. They can steal a paragraph from each and build something completely different. I honestly don't fucking care.

I don't need credit. I don't need recognition. I need the message to get out before somebody else wakes up in an ICU wondering why they can't move half their body.

And once I started writing...

Everything else came flooding back.

Because here's the part that still burns. As far as I can tell, the woman who nearly killed me still hasn't even received a traffic citation.

Eight months.

Nothing.

I waited. I trusted the process. I honestly believed someone, somewhere, would eventually do the right thing.

Now? I'm done waiting.

Tonight I also sent my story to the Santa Fe Reporter. Maybe they'll pick it up. Maybe they won't.

But somebody needs to ask City Hall some uncomfortable questions. Somebody needs to ask why an illegal maneuver that nearly killed a motorcyclist appears to have resulted in... nothing.

Somebody needs to ask whether justice is asleep at the wheel. Because I sure as hell haven't gotten any answers.

The funny thing is, this isn't really about revenge anymore.

Months ago, maybe.

Today? No. Today it's about closure.

I have an amazing woman waiting for me. We're building a life together. We're planning rides together. We're planning a future together. I don't want my mind living in that intersection anymore. I don't want October 27th occupying space that belongs to tomorrow.

I want this chapter to end.

But chapters don't end because we ignore them. They end because somebody finally writes the last page.

Maybe that's what tonight really is.

Not anger. Not vengeance. Just the moment I finally decided to stop waiting for someone else to carry this fight.

If nobody else is willing to ask the questions...

Then I fucking will.