Some people say that when you have a near-death experience you see a light at the end of a tunnel. All I saw was the Pennsylvania license plate of an old, red Subaru with its right directional blinking.

Surely the car was only turning onto another street so that it could find an unobtrusive place to pull over and make sure I was okay, right? As the car made the turn and continued past several vacant curbs where it should have stopped, I suddenly became less sure.

Although I did not suffer from any known injuries, I could feel my heart beating at a rate vastly greater than normal. I had gone from happily talking to my friend on the phone to bawling faster than a Ferrari’s 0-60 time.

After the impact, the other car kept driving at a steady 30 mph. I knew it did not plan to stop. I felt more confused, perplexed, betrayed, and angrier than I have ever felt. How dare this Subaru smash my beloved car on a busy downtown Palo Alto street with at least 10 people as eye witnesses, and just drive away! Although I was not dying, it seemed like the end of the world.

With tears streaming from my eyes, and flames burning in my cheeks, I knew I had two choices. I could pull over, decompress, and count my losses, or I could follow this car until I ran out of gas.

I wasn’t sure what state my car was in; all I remembered about the crash was a giant thud. It probably made more sense to pull over and see exactly what damage existed, but I did not care about what made sense. This wasn’t about the car, this was about me. The driver of the Subaru made it personal the second she decided to continue driving instead of making sure I was unharmed.

I gripped the steering wheel more tightly and clamped my gold sling-back shoe more firmly on the gas pedal. Blasting my horn incessantly and keeping my eyes focused on the back of the red Subaru, I began my passionate pursuit.

The rest is somewhat of a blur. Somewhere in my hysteric state I managed to call my parents, who notified the PAPD of the incident. Following the Subaru through several lane changes and turns onto various streets, I kept updating my parents, who would then update the police dispatcher on my location.

Luckily, this story has a happy ending. The whole escapade cleared up around three minutes and two miles later, when the police arrived to my aid.

Although my car seemed to be untouched, and the driver acted apologetic, I couldn’t help but remind myself that this person had committed a hit and run. There are few things in life that hurt as much as someone showing such little sincerity.

The cost of the incident to me, in material objects, was simply about 1/7 a tank of gas and about 15 minutes of my life. However, not everything in life can be measured in material objects. Emotionally, I was a wreck. What demonic power could motivate somebody to not even stop, slow down, or check to see if I was alright?

Because my car was not damaged, to an external observer it may seem silly that I wasted my time following the car. To me, however, it was worth it to ensure that this person was forced to take responsibility for the crash, and look me in the eye.

So if you ever fall victim to a hit and run accident, I hope that you make the same choice that I did and follow the criminal until he/she is caught. If not for your car, and if not for you, do it for the sake of justice.