“Piece of crap!”
Dave turned to face up the road.
“After we roll up the windows and lock the doors, we have to get up there,” he said pointing in the moonlight.
A noise caused my head to swivel. His shadow was moving, the car was rolling away from us.
“Dave!” I shouted. “The car!”
“Son of a bitch!” He turned and started running.
The guardrail appeared, the driver side of the car against it. The car was sliding backwards along the metal.
Dave charged to the passenger side, grabbed at the door and fell. It was like a silent movie clip, but without
the piano music. He sprang to his feet, ran to the car again, pawed at the door, then stopped. The headlights
lit him higher up as the car rolled further away.
“What?” My mouth dropped open. What was he doing?
The car reached the end of the guardrail, there was an ominous silence, Dave went dark as the headlights swept
towards the stars, The Haywagon vanished.
I ran to the shoulder and looked down. I could hear crashing, see the headlights receding. Then the headlights
went dark, a distant crash. Silence.
I could hear the crickets chirping.
“Damn it! The Haywagon didn’t roll when I took my foot off the brake, I left her in neutral.” Dave said. He walked
over, stooped, picked something up, straightened, reached me wiping off his dark glasses.
I turned.
“What was that?” I couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“I forgot about the door handle.”
“How are we going to get back to Modesto now?”
“Hitch hike,” Dave said ruefully. “At least I saved my tool box.”
I stared up at the stars, at the moon.
“I was going to sell the Haywagon when we got back to Modesto,” he said.
He walked back up the road to our boxes and I stayed where I was, standing, looking down into moon lit darkness.
“Damn, that was close,” Dave said. “I almost dove in the window.”
He walked down the road to me and thrust a bottle into my hand.
“Vodka,” he explained. “My emergency supply.”
I didn't move.
“Suit yourself.” I heard the cap unscrewing, “But I need a drink.”
I was looking down into the darkness that had swallowed our car.
“If I was to sell her I would get three hundred bucks, right?” Dave picked up a rock and threw it into the
darkness. “A rebuilt engine would set me back four hundred bucks.
