Life is a journey someone much wiser than me once said. And if that’s true, then maybe mine is destined to have few more twists and turns than most.
Every Day Is A Winding Road by Sheryl Crow comes on the radio. I turn up the volume, breathing a sigh of relief that for now the worst is behind me. And as the orange Cube chugs up the thruway, I sing along. Who the hell knows. Maybe Sheryl is onto something.
The worst is most definitely not behind me. In fact, it’s on me, over me, and under me. I’ll be picking it out of my teeth and underwear soon. Half an hour into my trip, I am getting creamed by the worst.
Let me just say this, a cyclone bomb is not something to trifle with. Officially, I am a showboating tourist. I am a trash-talking, know-it-all, showboating tourist. This is not the first time my mouth has gotten me into trouble––no surprise there––but it has never put my life in actual jeopardy before.
I don’t remember snowfall like this. Even though it has technically been eight years since I’ve lived here; I don’t remember anything like this at all. And here’s more bad news––it’s getting progressively worse the farther north of Albany I drive.
A two-hour trip turns into a hair-raising, anxiety-inducing four-and-a-half hour one, most of which is conducted in near whiteout conditions with me bent over the steering wheel, clutching it like it’s the last roll of toilet paper during a worldwide pandemic. The entire way I’m talking to the car. It’s all I can do to keep the nervous breakdown at bay.
“What a good girl you are. So handy and brave…Look at you, defying the odds…They said she couldn’t do it, but she persisted…”
Only by the grace of God do I somehow make the turn onto 73 west headed toward downtown Lake Placid. It feels like a race with time; the closer I get to my destination the more brutal the conditions get.
Inching my way down the two-lane highway, the snow banked up the sides gets higher and higher until it closes in around me and I can’t see the road anymore.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
It happens very fast and simultaneously very slowly––like I’m stuck in a bad Fast And Furious take. The little orange car that can just can’t do it anymore. As my heart pounds with fuel-injected fear, the Cube starts fishtailing, the back wheels spinning and spinning. I freeze, unconsciously holding my breath, because doing anything else is beyond my pay grade.
This is where my luck ends. I never had much to begin with, but right here and now the little I do have peters out. The scream is stuck in my throat as the car slides sideways off the street, crashes through a pile of snow, and eventually into a cluster of pine trees. The driver’s side door slams into an unmovable object, and I slam my head into the driver’s side window.
Once the world stops spinning, I take a minute to assess the damage. Other than my throbbing brain, which I try and fail to soothe by rubbing, I’m alive and in one piece, seemingly unscathed for now. I say seemingly because it’s then I realize that I’m way off road, hidden from any vehicles passing, and the snow is coming down fast with flakes the size of frisbees. It’ll be mere seconds before the entire car is covered. The windshield wipers, working hard to clear the blanket of falling snow, just can’t keep up with the onslaught, and before long I’m sitting in a tin igloo––or a casket. Whichever.
I turn off the engine. The exhaust pipe could be blocked (who knew all the true crime documentaries I’ve binged would come in handy) and dying softly from co2 poisoning is not my preferred choice…not that I have a choice. The thought turns my stomach. I still have a ton of life to live. This is not how my story ends.
The temperature inside the car quickly plummets, and since I’m not a complete idiot, I decide the best course of action is to put on as many clothes as possible. Crawling out of the driver’s seat, I get in the back and start opening the suitcases, which is no easy task when I’m shaking, and my fingers are numb. Teeth chattering, I strip off my sister’s Canada Goose maxi coat and start piling on sweaters, undershirts––anything that I can cram on gets crammed on because it is flipping cold.
“I can’t die here. This is not how my story ends. Hell no. I refuse to die like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.”
Once I get all the clothes on, I lie down in the back, clutching my phone. Going out in this storm would be utter madness and I’m not desperate enough yet. I’ve got a large water bottle and a pack of strawberry Twizzlers to hold me over for the night. Besides, Nicholson’s frozen face keeps flashing before my eyes. No, the best course of action is to hunker down until the storm abates. After that, I’ll venture forth and see if I can flag down a state snowplow. This is a major road in and out of town; they won’t wait long to clear it.
The phone battery icon blinks green. It’s fully charged. And I have an extra battery with me. Little good that does me with a nonexistent signal, but at least I’m not one of those people on the evening news that finds themselves in dire straits with no battery juice.
The quote running in the byline flashes before my eyes. “Yeah, she died. But at least she had a fully charged phone and a back-up battery.”
That doesn’t sound great either.
Save for the dim light of my screen, the cab is dark and it’s getting colder by the second. My focus is waning, and the courage I’ve marshaled begins to slowly seep out of me. All that is left in its wake is a deep fear that I am good and truly screwed and I can’t talk myself out of it like I usually do. Trying to swallow the fear that balls in my throat only helps to drive it to the surface.
You know that oh shit moment? The one that inevitably everyone has at least once in his or her life. Like oh, shit, I shouldn’t have applied self-tanner the night before my big job interview. Or, oh shit, all that cheese and champagne at the big fancy New Year’s Eve party was a bad idea. Or oh shit, did I just send that pic of the suspicious beauty mark on my boob to everyone on my contact list instead of to my sister? Yeah, well, this is definitely my oh shit moment.
Even beneath the mountain of clothes I’m buried under, my body is shaking violently, my anxiety slowly climbing until I’m on the verge of tears. That’s when the thoughts sneak in. The bad ones. There’s so much I haven’t done. So much I haven’t seen. Too much I haven’t accomplished yet. I’m usually really good at getting myself out of trouble, but there is a very real chance I may not come out ahead this time and all those boxes I haven’t checked yet taunt me. What the hell have I been doing with my time?
“God, if you’re listening, I have a list…you there, buddy?” Fuck, I feel alone. My vision gets blurry as tears pool in the corner of my eyes. “Okay, here it is if you’re interested…I would like to meet my niece or nephew. You can’t deny me that.” The thought of never seeing Jackie again has me crying so hard my eyes hurt, and it’s so cold the tears sting. “Also, I would like to fall in love just once…and Ben doesn’t count. Fucking hell, this is not how my story ends! Sorry, I apologize for the salty language but I’m cold and you know how much I hate the cold…”
I can’t die like this, frozen, in the middle of nowhere, unemployed and broke.
“A Pulitzer would be nice. I’m not saying it’s a must, more like a wish if you’re in a generous mood tonight.”