writing

We haven’t even backed out of the parking space yet;

My head slams back on the headrest of my seat. We haven’t even backed out of the parking space yet, and I’m already regretting my decision to get in a car with Greg.

Greg chuckles nervously.

I glance over from the passenger side, and give him an encouraging smile. He was too busy whipping his big head from side to side though, checking his blind spots, which I was glad for because otherwise he’d see my wan face. Inside, I mentally cursed myself for forgetting my car keys at home.

As he kamikazed through the intersection (through a yellow light and going at 30 above the legal limit), I tried to inconspicuously fasten my seatbelt. Why wasn’t my seatbelt on, you ask? Turns out Greg’s passenger side seatbelt detector hasn’t been working for two years. Upon getting into the car, he happily let me know that the detector was broken; therefore there was absolutely no need for me to strap myself in. The irony was that I was scared witless, and there was Greg sitting there next to me with a seatbelt over his body- the very one that he clicked into place begrudgingly and with an eyeroll (plus a droll wink at me, for good measure). As I tried to calm my jackhammer heart, I closed my eyes and attempted to enter a meditative state. I start to see myself in a very dark room, maybe this is how space looked before God plopped in some big rocks, some burning, some not, when suddenly a flash-

I opened my eyes to see a car whiz by on the other side of the two-lane freeway, and then I spot a police cruiser hiding behind some leafy overgrowth to the side of the road…

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