BOOOOMMM!!

“Let’s bang out these deliveries as quickly as possible so we can get home and eat.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Imagine if we order this exact meal for ourselves tonight?” I looked at my husband, hoping that he would agree.

“Spend our profits? No way.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I fought to hide my disappointment as my hunger pains mixed with the growing fatigue. 

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see. Just another few deliveries and we hit our goal for the day.” He smiled at me, trying to keep my spirits up.

We stopped for the red light.  I stared at it willing it to change to green so we could keep going. The longer we sat still, the longer the night would drag out. I checked the app, relieved to see the destination was five minutes away.

“You okay?” He glanced at me before returning his stare to the traffic light.

“Yeah. You?” I studied his profile, his clenched jaw, the way his fingers tapped on the wheel.

“Yeah.”

We fell silent. The aroma was intoxicating, making me sleepy as if I had just indulged in the decadent feast rather than driving it to someone else’s happy table. 

I reminded myself to count my blessings. The extra bit of money from Uber Eats meant our mortgage would be paid on time. If we pushed harder and went faster, we would be able to put some cash aside. It was worth it, as my husband always reminded me as we drove through the dark nights like little food elves.

Damn. That light was red forever. Come on. Red light, green light, one, two, three.  I was getting delirious, my thoughts a hodge podge due to fatigue and overstimulation. I shifted the bag on my lap, trying to get comfortable.

BOOOOOOMMMMMMM

The crack of the explosion was sudden and deafening. My mind spun with images of bombs falling out of the sky. It was terrorism. It was happening again.  We had survived 9/11 only for another attack. We knew it was coming, we just didn’t know when. I looked around with bulging eyes expecting to see the destruction, the fires, the dismembered victims. What happened? What happened?

BOOOOOOMMMMMMM

A second thunderous explosion of noise was exponentially louder than the first. My body was thrust forward, disorienting me. Thoughts flew around my mind struggling to make sense, to create order in the sudden chaos. What happened? What happened?

Then silence. Stillness.

Gone was the red light that had held my attention. We were in the middle of the intersection. 

Faces appeared at my window; their expressions matched my own internal fear. 

“What the fuck?” My husband leapt out of the car screaming into the unknown. I silently followed.  

No fires. No bombs. No dismembered body parts. 

Screams and curses surrounded me. A crowd had gathered.

A truck behind my car. Attached, metal on metal. 

A car behind that truck. Totaled. 

A woman off to the side. Hysterical. Drunk. Raving.

I struggled to figure it out. What happened? What happened?

A tow truck appeared out of nowhere. That damn red tow truck. Like the grim reaper itself showing up at the scene of an accident in an instant. Did they circle the city streets like vultures in search of their prey? They tow away your belongings to their final resting place, leaving you on the side of the road dazed and confused.

The woman was screaming, “My kids, I have kids,” to the first officer on the scene. My anger flipped on like a light switch illuminating a room after a blackout, showing off all the cobwebs and dust bunnies.

“Your kids?” I ran at her like a savage animal. “Your kids? What about my kids? You almost killed me, you fucking bitch. What about my kids??” I was livid, foaming at the mouth. The pieces suddenly fit together like a horror movie puzzle that would never sell, for who would want to piece together that scene? 

The first deafening crack of thunder had been the drunk crashing into the truck, the second explosion when the truck had crashed into us. 

The older men, no worse for the wear, stepped out of the vehicle in the middle of the nightmare sandwich.  The impact absorbed by their monster truck had spared our little sedan. What would have happened had they not been there as our buffer?

Sirens, endless sirens, as more cops arrived. My husband was screaming at the drunk, and my heart began to race anew. What if they thought he was the instigator, the out of control maniac on the road? I rushed over to calm him down, to keep him safe.

“I saw the whole thing,” witnesses appeared, eager to help. Were they happy or was I insane? For certainly no one would be pleased about an accident unless relishing their moment in the sun, hearing their own grandiose recounting of the tale. 

Let them tell the story.  I was not a witness, just a victim as I had waited for that red light to change. I got my wish; it had changed but not to green. Rather from a single red light to multiple flashing lights lining the street, blocking traffic, filling the road with frustrated drivers. “Damn, and we were making such good time,” I imagined the words spoken in aggravated tones. The rubberneckers slowed down to take a good look at us, for it was our turn to be the sideshow. 

An officer instructed my husband to move the car to the side of the road.  I was grateful to see it start and drive despite the newly acquired damage. I was thankful to see my husband lock up the car and walk towards me. It could have been worse. It could have been unimaginable. 

My thoughts returned to my kids. The voice of the drunk woman screamed for hers, begged the officers not to arrest her, not to take her away because of her kids. I was speechless.

The uniformed men approached me, asked if I was okay. Did I need the hospital? No, of course not. I was fine. Then suddenly I wasn’t. The scene tilted and turned; my husband helped me to a safe spot where I fell to the ground.

The words swirled around nonsensically, insurance, photos, phone numbers. Could I go to sleep on the side of the road? Was that acceptable? 

I tapped my Uber Eats app and reported that I would not be delivering that meal after all. Reason? Reviewing the options, I chose ‘other’ and switched off the app.

Moments later, I looked at my husband, back behind the wheel.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. You?” He studied my face.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re so eating that dinner,” he motioned to the bag of food, warm and intact, back on my lap.

“Yeah, we are.” 

I looked at him as a single tear rolled down my cheek. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, allowing the emotions of the moment to wash over me. The screams of that woman echoed in my mind loud and intrusive. The shock and anger slipped to the background and something else popped in. Was it sympathy? Empathy? I didn’t want to feel sorry for her. I pushed that away.

We continued our drive in the dark with our destination changed to home.