Rubbernecker

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DYING IS NOT as easy as it looks in the movies.

In the movies, a car skids on ice. It slews across the road, teeters on the edge of the cliff.

It drops; it tumbles; the doors come off; it crumples and arcs, crumples and arcs – and finally stops against a tree, wheels up, like a smoking turtle. Other drivers squeal to a stop and leave their doors open as they rush to the precipice and stare in horror, while the car—

The car pauses for dramatic effect.

And then bursts into flames.

The people step back, they shield their faces, they turn away.

In the movies, they don’t even have to say it.

In the movies, the driver is dead.

I don’t remember much, but I do remember that the Pina Colada song was on the radio. You know the one. Pina Colada and getting caught in the rain.

I hate that song; I always have.

I wonder whether I’ll tell the police the truth about what happened. When I can. Will I have the guts to tell them I was trying to change channels when I hit the ice? Because of that song. Will they think it’s funny? Or will they shake their heads and charge me with dangerous driving?

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