A Year of Stories (Collection Two)

Memories Like a Knife

I rememeber the day I bought this car.

It was 2:37PM on a Tuesday – 76 degrees and humid – there were clear skies, with just a handful of wispy clouds overhead.

One of them looked like a Reindeer, another like a Dolphin with a broken fin.

A lovely Spring afternoon.

I remember the day because there is a calendar right by my front door, the time because I own a watch, and the temperature because ever since I was fourteen I've been obsessed with the local weather.

Don't ask me why, I just love watching people stand in front of fake maps and tell me how to dress. Also, weather people have the best smiles, you're just going to have to believe me on that one.

On the day I bought this car, I was dressed in a blue polo shirt and dark grey slacks, the same basic outfit I wore for most of my early twenties – as for my smile, it was average.

2.

The accident was unexceptional as car accidents go.

I had just picked up the Honda Civic from the dealer, whose name was Bryan DePalma. He had chestnut colored hair and broad shoulders. He also had an accent, maybe South American, but I'm not a linguist, and I think he was trying to hide it.

Bryan quoted me a price 10% over Kelly Blue Book, but he didn't count on the fact that I had the 1997 Kelly Blue Book memorized.

He didn't count on that fact because people don't do that sort of thing. People can't do that sort of thing. For most people, memory is the fuzzy bit of half-fiction they make up to explain parts of their lives to themselves.

For me it's different. For me it's like someone left the camera running on my life, and refuses to stop showing me the tapes – it's memory like a bad sitcom – one that refuses to go off air.

Anyway, Bryan ended up selling me the car at fair market value when I started reciting quotes from the eight other dealers I'd visited that morning – along with transcripts of what they had said to try to cheat me.

I'm not sure if he felt guilty or terrified, but either way, I got my car.

I was just about four miles away from the dealership, when I pulled up to a red light and felt an explosion.

3.

I'm not sure if you've ever been in a car accident, but no matter how small it is, it feels like an explosion.

It's noise and violence and motion all wrapped into a quarter second of impact. Your body reacts before your mind does – tightening every muscle, dilating your pupils, dumping chemicals into your blood to prepare for whatever monster it thinks has caught your scent.