One Drop
There was only one drop at first. Then two. The first splattered on the windshield in front of me, and the second crashed on Kelsey’s side, smack in front of the passenger seat. It was Brian that pointed it out.
“Mom, it’s raining.” He leaned forward, his head bobbing between us.
“Seat belt, Brian.”
I didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, I gazed out the windshield. Outside, there was only darkness shining through the glass.
Storm advisory throughout Tuolumne County… Click. Kelsey’s hand twisted the dial.
“Wait, put that back.”
Kelsey sighed. I knew she was pursing her lips, getting ready to protest.
“Mom.” Brian had bounced back to his seat. Before Kelsey could complain, his voice echoed off the walls of the van, “It’s a bad storm, isn’t it, Mom?”
The raindrops were crashing quicker, harder; one after another and another. I moved my thumb and finger to the steering column. One nudge and the wipers gathered speed, catching up. Whip and whip and whip.
For only one moment, I felt the traction of the tires against the asphalt. I was in control. There was power beneath my wrists, gripped tight.
And then it was gone.
The downward slope that ended with the curve to the right, and spilled into a long stretch only to curve again inches from the creek, had melted away.
Just like that, the road had disappeared. In its place, was a shallow film of water.
I lifted my foot off the gas, and moved it to the left.
“Seatbelt! Now!” I commanded, unable to hide my panic. I no longer had control of the van. It was moving, floating, following a path of its own path of liking.
Kelsey whimpered. “Mom…”
Brian screamed.
I could feel the tendon in my foot, where ankle meets heel, flexed tight, still poised above the brake.
Do I break through the glide, or do I not brake and steer? Remember, remember!
I couldn’t.
Our father, who art in heaven…
The rear of the van was inching towards the bottom of the curve. I stiffened my hands. I tried to focus, to steer.
Nam-myoho-renge… I began to chant to myself. I couldn’t remember if I should break through the glide, but I did remember my two-week-long stint as a nineteen-year-old Buddhist, hoping to impress the twenty-one-year-old from Florida with biceps.
Breath in, breath out…
Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Yes, calm. I need to be calm. Hold tight.
Underneath me, the van was gaining speed. 40,44,46…
I thought of Kelsey, nine, and Brian, eight. I thought of the raindrops. I thought of the road.
Nam-myoho …
Wait — I was baptized Catholic.
Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…
I gripped tighter, staring ahead. My world had condensed into a panoramic stretch of glass — dark and wet and shiny — from the edge of my seat, all the way to Kelsey beside me and Brian, behind. The raindrops continued to pound, one after another.
I knew it was coming. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to tell Brian, now hollering as loud as he could for me to stop the van, that I loved him. I thought of releasing one hand from the steering wheel and reaching out to Kelsey, who was softly whimpering in the passenger seat beside me —
I love you both.
But we were on the straight stretch with the left side of the van pushing slightly towards the edge. Towards my side. Towards Brian’s side. Like some off-center roller coaster, the van possessed a magnet-like force that kept pushing it towards to the creek. Closer, closer.
And I knew, somewhere between my fingers, now numb, and the tension in my neck, that Brian and I would feel the impact first.
The trees on the bank came into view and the van slid out of the straight.
If the beginning was unexpected, the one-at-a-time raindrops and the watery road, then the ending — our ending — was inevitable. Gilding across the filmy asphalt, a hostage strapped tight, I knew.
The blackness took on a fuzzy green-gray in the windshield, as a silhouette of pines, poplars, and willows lined up one by one by one, backing up against the creek.
I didn’t think about the life I was preparing to leave behind, or the drop into the creek, on the other side of the trees. I didn’t think of Brian or Kelsey, or of the man I loved, waiting at home. Instead, I listened to the rhythm of the wipers — whish, whish, whish — and the alternating drops of rain.
Our father, who art in Heaven.
Then it was over. Fingery branches filled up the windshield in front of me, and the van jerked to a stop. Three seconds of silence followed.
I looked over at Kelsey. She was leaning back in her seat, eyes wide.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Mom?” came a small voice from the back seat.
I craned my body around. “Brian, you okay?” I strained my eyes into the darkness.
“Yeah.” Brian’s voice was a little quieter than usual. “Can I take off my seatbelt?”
I exhaled, nodding. “Yeah…”
Later, I would describe this feeling as relief.
In front of us, tendrils of dark green and branches of rough hewn brown pressed against the windshield, encapsulating us in a web of foliage.
And life.
