Faux Pas

by Kevin Bahler, SUNY Cortland, May 5, 2008

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Late for class, I was running to get up the hills in time. I stopped at the intersection, looking around for any cars passing through. The snow covered every spot that feet could touch, there was no distinguishing from the sidewalk’s end and the street’s beginning. I looked to the right, saw no cars, and took my first step to get across. I turned my head left and saw a car coming toward me with no intention of stopping.

My body stopped, retracted. All I had to do was get back to the sidewalk and pretend that I never stepped in front of a car. The snow under my foot collapsed and twisted, turning me sideways. I was falling backwards, my head slowly approaching the path of the tire on the road.

I cocked my head to look into the windshield. I saw the driver, a young woman, probably not much older than myself, with no discernable look of surprise or shock on her face. I know it’s a stereotype, but seriously, a woman driver? What the hell? This is going to be a pathetic way to die.

As I continued to fall, the windshield left my field of view and I focused on the wheel that would crush me. It seemed a standard wheel. It had a non-reflective silver hubcap, solid except for the holes for the bolts. I couldn’t count how many there were, but it felt like there were five. I saw them come within three inches of my face and keep on going, no swerve, no veer, no use of breaks that could be noticed.

I stood back up, unscathed by the car and my fall. I looked and saw a dormmate who was behind me the whole time. I had to tell her something, something that would assure her I was safe and that I fully appreciated how near I was to having a two-dimensional skull.

“Snow is slippery,” I managed to say, then I walked across the street and went to math class as quickly as I could.

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