I should have been dead

I should have been dead already. When I first got the keys to mom's car, I did my best Dale Earnhardt imitation, cutting through the country roads, pushing the speedometer needle to the limit. I was invincible. I turned on the car's bright lights and reached 110 mph. A deer could have pranced into the road and we both would have died. What if a black car had stopped in the road and turned off its lights, and I didn't see the car until crashing into it? Strangely enough, the bright lights gave me a false sense of safety, as if someone else were watching over me like a co-pilot.