Bam!

This isn’t at all what I planned to write about next. Several far more pleasant topics have been marinating until I had time to develop them. I shouldn’t be writing anything at all. I should be trimming the tree. But then this happened.

I was driving down Ridge, on my way to pick up a suit from the cleaners and take it to Zandstra’s to be altered. To be let out, I’m afraid. For several years, I’ve sucked in my breath and told myself that all I had to do to reclaim a perfect fit was just shed a few pounds. Maybe so. It doesn’t seem to be happening. Myself said, “Enough!”

I was paused at a stoplight, at peace with my fellow men and women, only the sunniest of thoughts prancing about in my noggin. BAMMM!! Dimitrios was as surprised as I was to be pushed several yards out into traffic. I shut off the motor and stepped to the rear where I noted with dismay the carnage the driver behind me had wreaked on her car. The grille was pushed in, the hood partly crumpled, and both a headlight and her license plate lay on the street.

I was afraid to inspect Dimitrios. When I did, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Not a dent, not even a scratch! Hooray for Nissan! I’ve been driving a tank without knowing it.  Two passing cars paused to tell me they’d seen the other driver weaving and looking down, probably texting. They sped on before I could get information to use them as witnesses. I approached the juggernaut and the driver rolled down her window. She looked pitiable, addled and resigned. as though this were at least the tenth bad thing to happen to her that day. She didn’t seem drunk, just rather ditzy, and sad. She said, pointing in the general direction of the gear shift, “It wasn’t working. I tried to jiggle it.”

Her hopelessness preempted any anger I might have mustered. She reminded me of a few people I’ve known, people who can’t seem to get out from under the dark clouds that pursue them, clouds often of their own making. When I was young, I feared I might be one those people.

In a tiny voice, she said, “I should call the police.” I told her I’d do it, but the sun was bright on my phone, and as I fiddled with it, a fire chief appeared at my side. “The police are on their way. I live across the street, and when I hear that sound, it only means one thing. I hear it a lot.” When the squad car arrived, I thought, “This is almost worth it,” for it disgorged a dashingly handsome patrolman, patient and polite with both drivers. After taking our statements and checking our credentials, he ordered a tow truck for her and sent me on my way.

I don’t notice any difference yet in the way Dimitrios looks or handles. My back was sore yesterday, but, after a hot soak, it seems normal. I’ve called my insurance company and will take D for an inspection at a collision center, but it’s possible that he and I have emerged unscathed.

I was lucky to have had my seat belt fastened, and been relaxed at the moment of impact. Luckier still not to have been walking across the street when that essentially driverless car bore down on me. Luckiest of all not to spend my life dogged by a dark cloud.