Ride

Often, distracted, she almost hit the gas instead of the brakes. While first learning to drive, her stomach would drop in that infinitesimal moment during which she had to decide. Brakes or gas. Brakes or gas. Thankfully, though, she had always chosen correctly – later laughing with her mom as she pulled into the closest open parking space in the Pier One parking lot, and then nervously pushing her head into the backrest of her seat as the car finally settled.  Or whispering, “Ok, got it right,” to the rearview mirror, barely missing the garage door.

There was that time, too, she saw the neighbor’s dog. And she had hit the gas. Luckily, his tail only brushed the front tire; but she saw the look of terror in his eyes as he crooked his head sideways and caught her glance, galumphing across the driveway and up the stairs to his yard. Maybe it wasn’t his terror, but hers. 

Brakes or gas. Brakes or gas. 

* * *

“I can pick you up,” she offered, bits of Dorito dust nestled in the left corner of her mouth.

“K,” her brother twirled his backpack over his shoulder, “Thanks. 11-ish.” 

“Ish? Or 11?” she rolled her eyes, not bothering to turn around.

“11.”

“K.” 

She didn’t watch as he left, hopping into the front seat of someone’s car. Whoever it was that was able to drive him to work that day. Realizing she had made an orange fingerprint on the corner of the page she was reading, she quickly licked her fingers and wiped them on the front of her jeans. She put the magazine down, opened a bottle of water, and then dozed off for a few hours.

* * *

“I’m up. I’m up,” she fumbled, cell phone alarm blaring mutedly from under the couch pillow. No one answered, since she was alone. She tried to remember why it actually was that she was stunned awake, then snatched her keys from the coffee table and headed out to pick up her brother. 

As she pressed the ignition button, she thought of going back inside to grab a heavier coat. It was colder than she thought. Sometimes she waited a good half an hour before her brother came out, and she didn’t like to leave the car running, since he didn’t help her pay for gas. He asked for a ride just infrequently enough that she felt funny asking him for a couple dollars, but just often enough she sometimes resented it. Tonight, she was indifferent, so she backed out of the driveway to get him, forgetting both the coat and his frugality. 

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She guessed he was making sure she was on her way. She ignored it, pulling into the parking lot, where there was only one other car – a green Subaru with a flat tire that had been there for two months – and a dumpster. Must have been a slow night, she thought. 

Brakes or gas. 

* * *

Disoriented, she kept her left hand on the door handle. Once, she had seen a segment on a news show about what to do in an emergency. While the car was sinking, she thought at least she could open the door and get out.

It wouldn’t open. Was it locked? She couldn’t remember, but she tried to feel for the button with her right hand. The car was starting to fill up with water. She didn’t know how much time she had, and it was so dark. She couldn’t tell if the car was upside down or right side up, but she kept pushing the door and feeling for the unlock button.

Her feet were starting to feel wet. Then her calves. Her knees. 

“Fuck!” she cried, frantically. 

The cell phone buzzed again. With her right hand, she yanked it from her pocket. Calm down, she thought, squinting at the screen. There was a text from her brother:

Don’t need ride.

Catching her breath, she dialed 9-1-1, the icy water beginning to slosh around her chest. Holding the phone above the water, she cursed, “Why won’t it fucking go through!?” She tried again, this time noticing the tiny No Service in the upper left corner of the screen. The water reached her neck. She dropped the phone, then anxiously grabbed onto the rear view mirror, where she caught her glance.

The look of terror was hers, after all.