Hit and Run

About a week ago, I was driving through downtown late on Saturday night. I was in the right hand lane on a one-way street. The light was green, but the car in front of me was waiting on pedestrians before turning right. I had only stopped for a second or two before I got nailed from behind.
I immediately thought the rear was completely destroyed and that I was going to have whiplash, so I stayed in the car and called the cops. A few moments later, the other driver came up to the window and said, "you ok?"

"I think so." I responded.

"What are you doing?" he then asked.

"I'm calling the cops."

He returned to his car while I reported the accident, only to be told that they didn't need to be involved if there were no serious injuries (this was my first accident, so I didn't really know what standard procedure was).
About 10 seconds later, he pulled up to my left and said, "Hey, let's pull around the corner so we can get out of traffic and exchange information."

"Alright" I replied.

He pulled through the light, and I followed. No more than a half-block later, the guy sped off through the traffic. It doesn't take long for adrenaline to kick in, which I guess had a natural affect on the weight of my foot, because I immediately sped up to chase him.

"Get the license plate. Get the license plate. Get the license plate." repeatedly ran through my head.
Then, after I caught up to him and read it, "118-VRN. 118-VRN. 118-VRN." I did not want to forget this.
To complicate the matter, I called the police back to inform them that I was now chasing a hit and run car through downtown. So, the adrenaline is flowing, I'm driving with one hand as I talk on my cell phone, I'm answering questions, and I'm desperately trying to remember a 6 letter/number combination.

After the 6th or 7th block, the other driver cut across three lanes of traffic, pulled into a parking lot, and then turned down an alley in the rear of the lot. Of course, I followed, almost getting T-boned by a taxi in the final lane. Thankfully, he was an alert driver on the lookout for "crazy drunks" like me and braked just in time.

By the time I pulled through the alley and back into the street, the driver was nowhere in sight. I lost him.

But he didn't lose me and my trusty internal device called my memory.

The dispatcher told me to wait where I was until the police arrived to report the incident. While waiting, I decided to get out of the car and check out the damage. A few moments of grueling anticipation passed as I walked to the back of the car, but...

"What?!!! There is nothing!! No damage? anywhere? Oh wait, there's something - a tiny nick smaller than the size of a dime."

Thankfully, Mars Hill has given me the resources to recognize and acknowledge my anxiety and shame, which I felt in abundance at that moment. Yet even this was nothing compared to the moment an entire firetruck pulled up with about 4 firemen hopping off to rescue me - the dispatcher had asked if I was ok, and being overly cautious, I had said, "I think so, but my neck is a little sore." Which it was, but not sore enough to warrant 4 firemen and a firetruck! Unfortunately, they felt the same sentiment, which made me feel even more shame. There's nothin' like looking like a pansy in front of 4 tough firemen...

In the end, our car ended up with an estimated $1000 worth of damage due to a slight shifting of the unibody frame.

It's completely functional and driveable, so I'm tempted to let it go. Yet I also want to get it fixed, so they go after the guy who hit me.

So now I'm wrestling with the dilemma - grace or justice?