Bridge to Nowhere

So, I kind of… almost died yesterday.

I know, I know… that sounds alarmist and overdramatic and everything, but just hear me out on this one, okay?

Okay.

I’m in my car with my 7 month old son, and two dogs. I get stuck at a drawbridge opening. It’s a four lane bridge- two lanes each way. No shoulder on either side, just a concrete retaining wall. 

So, I’m sitting there, waiting for the bridge to close… and Christ only knows how fucking long it’s gonna take, and I’m sitting there burning gas… which ain’t cheap. So, I shut the motor off.

A few minutes later, the bridge closes, and traffic starts to move. I push in the clutch and turn the key.

The starter starts to turn, and then… nothing.

I try again… push in the clutch and turn the key.

Nothing.

I try one more time, pushing the gas pedal in a vain attempt to get to motor to crank.

Nothing.

I put the hazards on.

The other lane moves, and soon, the folks behind me start to drive around my crippled car.

I call the country sheriff, and have a patrol car dispatched to my location.

I sit. And wait.

Soon, the traffic jam is gone… and I just see cars whizzing by.

There is no shoulder, no anything- and I’m on a fucking bridge, so it’s not like I can hop over the wall with the dogs and the kid. So, I figure the safest place for me is to stay buckled into my car.

I keep checking the mirror for the police.

One car comes speeding up towards me… a little too close to comfort, But he sees that my car is not moving, and he gets into the other lane.

Another car- a van… even closer. I start blowing the horn and stomping on the brake pedal to get his attention…. finally, he swerves out of the way.

Then, a salt truck appears in my mirror. It figures- one of the five fucking salt trucks in the whole fucking state, and one is behind me.

Surely, he must see me sitting here.

But he gets closer.

Surely, the fuck… he must see me sitting here.

But he keeps on coming.

I tap the brake pedal and honk the horn, but by this time, my battery is so dead that the lights don’t even work.

Closer, closer, closer.

The motherfucker does not fucking see me.

He comes closer, still. Not a clue that my car isn’t moving.

I think about my son, strapped into the back seat. I think about the dogs back there. I think about the rear window, hanging close to all three of them. I think about the half-tank of 93 octane gasoline… about 8 gallons I have just on the other side of my rear bumper. I think about all of this…

"Fuck… fuck… fuck!" I said. At this point, if he slammed on his brakes, there is no way- no fucking way that he’d be able to stop in time.

I threw a blanket over my son in the rear-facing seat. I tightened my seat belt. I tucked my legs close to the seat, folded my arms over my chest, and leaned my head back against the headrest, bracing for a hellacious impact that I was certain would come.

I heard tires screeching from behind me, and I saw the salt truck begin to swerve. Fishtail back and forth. Swerve to the right, just BARELY missing my back bumper.

How close was it?

Close enough for me to read the license plate number in the mirror. 

So… friends and neighbors, if you haven’t a set of flares in your car, it might be a good idea to get a set. It might not completely prevent the chance of you getting plowed into should your car break down, but no one will not have an excuse for not seeing you there.