The Accident

I had to go home and change my clothes. Somehow I had managed to get all sweaty at the gym. I try really hard to stand against the wall and blend in. It’s a trick I learned in Junior High, but no longer easy to accomplish since I’m in my thirties with a personal trainer.

After I changed and enjoyed a healthy (code for “flavorless”) lunch with Charlie, I headed out the door for work. I tossed my laptop in the trunk and put my purse and bottle of water on the passenger seat.

The next few details are a little hazy.

I know I started the van.

I remember cranking up the radio.

Then there was a deafening “SCREETCH” and a jolt that stopped the van.

At the same time, I remembered Charlie’s pickup truck was also in the driveway. And I instinctively knew I had hit it. Probably something I learned from reading all those Nancy Drew books when I was a kid.

The damage was not as bad as I had expected. I really thought there would be a busted tail light/ head light combination. Apparently, my van’s side panel rubbed up against Charlie’s running board and shaved a couple inches off of it. The black shavings and one chunk of plastic lay on the ground.

There were not any scratches or dents or even broken glass. I think those step stools attached to trucks are just for show, anyway. And it was on the passenger side (my side) and really would not affect Charlie’s travel experiences in his truck. I was not worried.

I went inside the house to break the news to Charlie. Several of my girlfriends have questioned this move and I really can’t explain it. My usual intuition would be to lie and hide the evidence. All I can think is that I must have been in shock from the accident.

Thankfully though, Charlie was not mad. I know he was not mad because he informed of this at least twenty times.

“I’m not mad,” he stated for the fifth time as he walked around the van, in four inches of snow while wearing his slippers. “I’m not mad. I’m not mad. I just don’t know why. Why did you hit my truck?” He walked over to the truck. “There is plenty of room to get around it. I’m not mad. Can you just tell me why?”

There is no defense when you hit a parked vehicle. Ever.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess I just didn’t look.”

“I know you didn’t look!” he yelled and then told me he was not yelling.

I do not know if he was trying to convince me or himself.

“I’m not mad. I just want to know why you didn’t look.”

Charlie walked back to the van. “Do you see that?” he asked.

I didn’t.

“Yes,” I replied.

Charlie rubbed at an invisible spot on the van. “That is going to rust,” he informed me.

I am pretty sure the whole van is going to rust. Someday. But I didn’t point out that fact.

“I’m not mad. I just want to know why you didn’t look.”

I let the truth slip out.

“I was turning up KC and The Sunshine Band,” I said.

“Disco?” he asked. The look he gave me told me it was the wrong answer. The shock was still affecting my common sense.

“Actually, I think KC and The Sunshine Band are more ‘funk’ than ‘disco’,” I corrected him.

And then, I'm almost certain, I saw him get mad.