My Writer's Cramp Pieces

Crash

Crash

         I had a rock in one skate! You have to understand that. It wasn’t my fault. I’d merely sat down on the concrete sidewalk, removed my shoe skate, shaken it out, and was just about to put it back on, when I realized that the baby carriage was moving.

         One skate on, and the other clutched in my hand, I grabbed for the buggy, but I hadn’t noticed the incline of the street. My grab, unfortunately, pushed. Expelled from fingers that had almost gripped, the baby carriage was off and away. I bolted up and propelled myself forward, but I tripped over the skate I’d just dropped. My knee hit the street and, of course, my elbow left a layer of skin across the pebbled asphalt.

         Bravely, I ignored the sting of my scrapes and plunged after the racing carriage. I balanced on my single skate, pushing myself along with the sock-clad foot. Meanwhile, the carriage, gaining momentum, sped on. I pushed and skated, pushed and skated. The sock, like a peeling tire rim, slipped down and off. I tripped over it but didn’t fall, and I kept on, going, faster and faster, my naked foot hardly feeling the pebbles and stones that jammed themselves into the tender skin of my sole.

         Panic was in my throat. The taste of it was worse than pickles mixed with milk. I was nauseated with it, yet, I knew I had to catch the carriage before it reached the bottom of the incline. The housing development’s avenue where I’d been skating ended at the foot of the gentle hill in an intersection with a much busier city street. The carriage was careening towards that crossroad with no sign of stopping. In fact, it was speeding faster and faster.

         I forced a heavier grunt into each push of my skate, rushing down the road as if I were a plane intending lift-off. I'd almost gained on the carriage, I was reaching out for it, when a car swerved around it, hit its breaks, and collided with a pole.

         I caught the buggy, and saved it – inches away from crashing into the stop sign on the opposite side of the intersection. I stood, panting, staring all about me, realizing, only then, how close it had been to a catastrophe. I trembled.

          Unfortunately, as is usual with an auto accident, drivers all around were gyrating and giraffing their necks as they eyed the scene. One such driver forgot to look behind him when he slowed too suddenly. CRASH! Clump! CRASH! Crack!

         Cars tumbled into each other. The first car -- a silver Beamer, the one that had melded with the pole, was steaming. So was its driver, and he was heading my way. I turned my head and saw a yellow Volkswagen, the one who'd slowed to gawk. Behind it, a blue-green mustang was kissing the fender of a little black Jaguar. A funny-looking car, that I later found out was a Renault 6 Rodeo, had collided with the Jaguar.

         “What an idiot,” a small dark-haired Frenchman was screeching at me.

         “Is the baby ok?” a woman cried out.

         I turned to stare at her, but the man from the silver Beamer was cursing at me. I can't tell you the things he said. I blushed.

         “Is not polite to speak to a lady like that,” the Frenchman defended me.

         “Don’t be such a jerk,” said a twentish girl with about fifteen rings on her eyebrows, nose, and ears. I’m not sure, but I think she was the one from the yellow Volkswagen.

         “Do you have any insurance, is what I want to know,” said a lawyer-type who’d materialized from somewhere.

         “Hey, she wasn’t even driving,” said the multiple-ringed girl.

         “When someone allows a baby carriage to impede the normal flow of traffic on . . ."

         “What’s going on here?” interjected the deep, heavy voice of authority.

         Everyone backed away, leaving me in the center. “I, I . . .”

         “The baby,” cried out the woman. “Is the baby ok?”

         “Ma’am?” the policeman asked.

         All their eyes were on me. It was at that point that I realized how awful I must look -- one skate on, a bleeding knee and foot, an elbow minus its skin, and the baby carriage, the cause of the mess, a magnet for all their eyes.

         “Is the baby sleeping, Miss?” the policeman asked, softening his voice as if he realized that I was probably in shock.

         “That first car almost hit it. I saw the whole thing from the corner over there,” said an elderly man who’d just made his way into our circle.

         “May I have a look at the baby, ma’am?” the policeman asked, still gentling his voice as if I were about twelve.

         “No,” I gulped. All eyes glared at me. The woman took a step closer. “I mean, there’s no baby,” I tried to explain.

         “What?” the Silver Beamer’s owner was off into another cursing streak.

          “What do you mean there’s no baby,” said the woman.

         “I need to look, young lady,” the policeman insisted.

         I nodded and waved for him to take a peek. He drew the bonnet back and reached in to fold back the blanket. There was nothing under it, except my umbrella.

         “I was just going skating,” I told them. “The buggy is for the cans I see along the way, and the umbrella is because. . .”

         I didn’t have to finish my sentence. The rain that had been threatening all morning began wetting us with its first few drops.

         The policeman took down everyone's information, hustled them back into their cars, and ferried me to my house. We stopped on the way to get my lost skate.

         I sure am thankful that I live in a state with uninsured driver’s insurance. Since I don’t drive yet, none of the companies attempted to dispute the claims, and I didn't get a ticket or anything because there really isn't any law about skating while pushing a baby carriage.

         Of course, the policeman talked to my parents, but they thought recycling was a good idea, and they weren't mad at me. Dad said in his deep, lecturing voice, "Be more careful, Lynette," but then he went back to reading an article in the local paper, one about the pollution of our oceans.

          So, I guess I could say that all ended well, except for my elbow, my knee, and all those ouchy pebbles in my foot, and the fact that I never collected a single aluminum can that day.


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