At Least They're Already Dead

         Bob reached across and checked the seatbelt. He tugged the strap. He then motioned for her to adjust the car's seat. He flipped the turn signal arm and nodded when the dashboard indicator pulsed. He pointed at the rear view mirror and waggled his hand.

         Mary swallowed and bit back any retorts she might have hissed. Good Lord, he is fussing today. I was going to check the mirror. He's taller than I am. Of course, I wish to see where we're going. Not for the first time, I feel like I'm seated next to a cockpit. There are so many dials and indicators. Is he going to do this every time I sit behind the wheel? This is not my first driving lesson after all. I'm getting the hang of this.

         Mary plastered a tentative smile on her face, checked all the mirrors one last time and indicated her attention to pull out onto the road. Did he just gasp?

         Mary felt as if her head were on a swivel. Look there. Look ahead. Watch the flow of traffic. Notice those kids next to the curb. Have any lights flashed?The cyclists were the absolute worst. They popped out from behind parked cars and they seemed to love weaving amongst all the vehicles. Many don't even stop for red lights, or stop signs. I really dislike them.

         Bob's hands struck the dashboard at about the same time she slammed on the brakes. He was able to brace himself, but all she had was the steering wheel and even that she wasn't supposed to jerk.

         "Keep your eyes on the road, Mary. There will always be stop and go traffic around here. You might want to go easy on the brakes."

         The student driver gritted her teeth. She knew she was clenching the wheel too tightly. Just breathe. He's probably as nervous as I am. At least he hasn't screamed...yet.

         "Why don't we take the next exit and go touring in the countryside? There should be fewer vehicles. "

         And fewer cars for me to avoid. He didn't have to say it out loud. He thinks I'm a driving hazard. Who will complain in the country? The sheep? The farm tractors?

         With a minimum of blaring horns, Mary successfully vacated the motorway without so much as a dent. Her shoulders visibly relaxed and she even dared to remove one hand from the steering wheel to flex it. Of course, Bob 'ahemed' in a brief rebuke.

         The trees are so lovely and green. Smell that fresh air, no smog, or exhaust fumes. I do love the blue of that sky. I should remark about it. Bob will know that particular shade.

         With a shout of "Look out!" from Bob, Mary swerved around a farm tractor puttering along in the dust. Time seemed to slow as she fought the skid and pumped the damn brakes. Did she cry out? Bob seemed awfully silent.

         Her head cracked against the side window and the tiny car smashed hard into a low stone wall. For a moment she believed that would be the most frightful part. Her journey was not finished. The barrier only served as a slingshot to launch them into the air. All sound muted. She marveled that she could almost believe she was sailing. That was but a brief respite. The car landed with a resounding thud and then teetered.

         Bob grabbed her arm and whispered, "Sit still. Do not open your door."

         A great shuddering breath exploded from Mary.We're still in one piece. I can't quite take this in.

         Through the shattered windshield glass they could make out the blur of several stone monuments. Bob nodded and muttered, "Yep, we're now visiting a cemetery. This was not on the itinerary."

          His hang dog look and deadpan delivery caused Mary to snort with laughter.

         "At least they're already dead," she managed to sputter.

651 words Newsletter # 25