Highway 80 Eastbound, just before Pinole, sun setting behind me, rain starting to fall more heavily, there’s a sudden slow-down ahead and I brake quickly, then very hard as the car in front of me stops completely.  In the rearview mirror a white Toyota Sienna comes barreling down on me and I know I’m about to be hit.  The impact is so hard, loud and jarring.  “Fuck!” I yell.  “You fucking idiot!”.  I think of the little Honda and the $400 we’ve just spent on repair and my trunk full of art supplies and my roadtrip and how I’ll just have to hang out with Miles in Sacramento the whole time because the car is finished.

So I turn my signal on and work my way right across the freeway and I see immediately that the minivan is following me and that they’ll stop with me. I pull over finally and stop and I open the door without turning off the car and then close it or something and the seatbelt seems to be broken and I think the whole car has been crumpled, squished, and I disconnect the automatic seatbelt and pull the trunk lever but figure the tail is probably so crunched that the trunk won’t open and I wonder how I’ll get my notebook and camera out.

But when I make it out and around to the back I see the trunk is open and the bumper isn’t even dented and the little asian man is examining the front of his van and he looks at me and raises his hand apologetically and I give him my worst “yeah, you fucked up” glare, but quickly soften as he asks if I’m OK, which I am, and I ask him if he’s OK and he is and his wife inside the van is OK too.

We’re getting wet outside and the wife comes out and hands me her insurance card and I start to copy it down but drops of rain are falling on my notebook and the card so I say I’m going to sit inside and then, thinking about it, suggest that they join me, and they agree.  I get inside and the wife gets in too and closes the door behind her and I ask if the husband wants to sit in the back and they both nod yes but this is a coupe and wife needs to get out and flip her seat forward and husband tries to open the nonexistent back door and he taps on the back window and I try to explain to the wife that she needs to get out but she doesn’t understand and seems quite content, cozy even, in the front seat with me and eventually the husband gives up and returns to the van.

We exchange info, I call Mom to see if I need to call the police, she says I do, so I dial 911 for the first time in my life and a nice lady dispatcher answers and asks where I am, but I don’t know exactly and have to get out of the car and run a few yards down the wet exit lane to read the closest sign to tell her I’m just before Pinole.  Heading back to the cars the sun is setting behind the rain clouds and the little Honda looks very far away and is silhouetted against the bright, opaque sky.  I get back in and write a page of my info and give it to the woman and tell her the police are coming and we agree to wait, she returns to the van, and we wait.  The windows of my car fog up and it seems a very long time til the police show up.

From Fall 2010