Glad I Didn't Sell That Bicycle

The last thing I need right now is coffee.

"Don't you have any juice?" He points me to a little cooler in the back of the cafe, nearly hidden by an overgrown fern. I stare at the contents. Pennywort juice, grass jelly juice... chrysanthemum juice, basil seed juice. Aloe vera juice. This isn't what I meant. For the second time today, I wonder if I'm dreaming.

I go with the pennywort.

I fish out a buck twenty-five and pay him. He wants to know if I'll buy his basil cookies but I'm already out the door, heading back to the shade. At least I have something to drink. From the picture on the can it's hard to imagine how anyone could squeeze juice from such a plant. It's good, if not quite refreshing, like someone made tea from mustard greens and then added too much sugar. Not bad, anyway.

I look over at the car. A pool of red liquid is forming under the grill and I don't know what it is. Jasper's bleeding, I think. Poor kid. The tow truck's already here for the other car. I try to dial again - network busy. Now is not the time, network. I need to call someone. I need to get home.

They say if you think you might die your life flashes before your eyes. I always figured my last thought before impact would be something shallow, like "my face!" Something honest. But it wasn't either of those, just a simple acknowledgment: Here we go. And then we did.

I'd later learn his name was Ivan. He doesn't want to look at me, but there we both are, standing there. His wife is still in the car. She looks strangely serene. He says he doesn't know whose fault it was, but we both know; we both know you don't try to turn left if you can't see. Praying doesn't help you here. Now we're both looking at the rear passenger-side door, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am - how if he hadn't hit the gas, how if this had happened just a moment sooner, his wife wouldn't be smiling at us right now. I feel sick.

He looks worse, though.

I couldn't get out of the car at first. My instinct was to call 911, but that was all I had - I try the door and it won't open and I just try it again. I can't get out. I climb over to the passenger side but it's even worse. Cars don't explode like they do in the movies, I tell myself. I finally climb to the back and I'm free and I'm smiling and shaking peoples' hands like this happens every day. "Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine," I hear myself saying. "Are you ok?" And the police come and everyone's fine and they leave and I'm here with my car and my phone isn't working. Damn network.

Finally I give up and drive the car home. It's miserable but it drives and we meander down the backstreets until we finally get to my house. I go inside. Chris looks up but I don't say anything, I just head to my room and change my clothes. Look at my face in the mirror. I go back downstairs and he's still sitting, head kind of cocked to the side, wondering why I'm back so soon.

"I'm going to try this again," I say, meaning that I'm leaving. "Also... the car." He wants to know what happened but I'm still not thinking yet and I head for the bus. I text my friend - finally the network relents - and I tell him I'm not coming downtown. He wants to know if I'm ok, and where am I going? I don't answer. For the moment, the question doesn't make sense.

Later I'll take a shower. The shock has worn off by this point, and I'll feel selfish for having felt so surprised, like this wasn't supposed to happen. People die every day, I'll think. People live in fear and then they die. Some people might even wish traffic accidents were the worst thing they had to worry about. But me, I get hit and I'm fine - we all walk away - and the best thing I can do is go down to Powell's and wander the aisles for a few hours. You might think it's comforting to be surrounded by all those books, the immortal imprints of their authors - a tribute to the people who lived.

Really, I just like the smell.

I'm not even paying attention to where I'm going. A book stands out, My Life Through Tarot, and I think, there's a wonder. I pick it up, open it to a page. Death.

"What if I'm not ready to have children?"

"Then don't."

"But what if I'm just afraid of having children because I'm afraid I'll get divorced? What if I screw up my children forever?"

"So what if you do?"

"What?"

"So what if you do ruin everyone's life? Life's an adventure - your adventure. What if you don't and you sit there thinking about what your life could have been?"

And that's all I need to read.