Seashell Secrets II

It was Big Marky, Sori and I in the small, red car; that little Mustang could fly. We swept down the highway and yelled out the lyrics to that song by Led Zeppelin that we all thought we knew, but we really had the words wrong. Gar and Loni were in the station wagon in front of us zigging and zagging, this way and that to get ahead of us. They would get alongside of us and Loni would stick his middle finger out at us, then laugh as Gar would pull away. This continued for three or four exits. We were getting closer to the place where traffic would slow because the highway would turn back into US-1.

Gar got ahead of two trucks and was stuck. Big Marky drove by and honked at him. We waved and blew kisses. Gar looked about ready to blow a fuse, but he just waved back as if to indicate that he had not given up the battle yet. We went by the planetarium and sped by all the other cars weaving in and out of traffic. Sometimes Gar would be ahead of us and at other times we would be ahead.

We heard it rather than saw it. It was louder than the music, louder than a carburetor backfiring and louder than a firecracker. A white Mercedes spun before us out of control. Big Marky swerved out of the way. The cars behind us skidded, but nothing happened. I looked outside of my window and the rear window but couldn’t see Gar. Sori was hurt. Her forehead had a small gash on it.

“It’s not major. Don’t look at me like I need something. You know that I hate that,” she said. I looked over at her and smiled. We hugged and as I peered over her shoulder I saw Gar’s little station wagon. It was trapped between the trailer and a black El Camino. I always hated those things. I screamed out Gar’s name and ran out of Big Marky’s car. I heard a siren and knew that the truck driver had radioed in the accident. I ran around Big Marky’s car up to Gar’s car. Loni and Gar were both moving. The red fire rescue truck arrived, and soon the EMT’s were taking care of Gar and Loni. I told them about Sori just in case. It was a fender bender. They asked us if they could take us all to the hospital, but we refused. I had vodka while on the beach, but nobody else had enough to register a BAC that would create a problem.

We looked at each other before we got back in the car with these pathetic looks on our faces that resembled puppy dog glances when they do something like tear down a Christmas tree or something. Then in an instant, Big Marky broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Sori, I am sorry that I got you hurt,” said Big Marky.

“You’re being ridiculous. You didn’t get me hurt. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt,” she said as we got back in the car after the driver of the Mercedes exchanged insurance information with Big Marky and the police left. Big Marky looked at her. She just jumped in the back seat and buckled herself in. I climbed in the other back seat. Big Marky was going to get let down big time, I thought. He wouldn’t listen to me.

“Gar looked okay, right?” I asked no one in particular. Big Marky looked at me in the rear view mirror as he pulled out of the traffic.

“He looked as ugly as always, Luly,” said Big Marky. Led Zeppelin was on again and we were singing soon, but this time it was just to keep us from thinking about the bandage on Sori’s face and the dents on Gar’s car. The song was “The Immigrant Song.”

Location Miami, Florida USA E-mail Hours M - Th 8 - 10 PM EST and Saturday 4 - 8 PM EST
%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close