Page 2 of Saved By the Sergeant

Up ahead, the light turns yellow. I carefully pump my brakes, thankful for the four-wheel drive. I sit at the red light, watching the snow fall while I contemplate what to cook for dinner. Earlier, I had a hankering for lasagna. Now I’m feeling more like a broiled rib eye with mashed potatoes.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a small green Prius flies through the intersection. My hands lock on the wheel as the car swerves to the right and does a half circle before it skates to the left, nearly T-boning a Jeep. Then the damn thing spins around, and heads straight for me.

What the hell? Is that guy drunk?

I don’t know if I should stay where I am and take my chances or throw the damn truck in reverse and pray I don’t fishtail straight into the gas pumps at Clyde’s. I click the wipers on high, and decide it’s probably safer to stay put.

My pulse races, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs as the Prius slides to the right, makes a sharp turn, veering to the left, and then plows right past me, burying itself in a massive snowbank.

“Damn,” I exhale in a woosh. That was too close.

The light turns green, and I wait. If that crazy driver slams the car into reverse and guns the gas, there’s no way it won’t careen right into my truck.

But the Prius doesn’t move.

After about a minute, I slowly roll forward. When the tires of the Prius don’t start to spin, and the backup lights don’t come on, my eyes stay locked on the car, as I search for any signs of movement. When I don’t see any, I growl at my shitty conscience, put on the flashers, grab my shovel and jog over to the car.

“You alright in there?” I holler.

Exhaust is pouring out of the tailpipe. The rear window tint is too dark to make out any silhouettes. Maybe if I thump on the trunk. Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Hey! Are you alright in there?”

I wait a few seconds. When there’s no response or movement, I jab the shovel into the snow to make a path to the driver’s door. I clear a wide enough path and see a woman behind the wheel. She’s not looking my way, which is strange. Maybe she’s in shock.

I knock on the window.

She doesn’t move.

She has to be in shock.

I brush off the snow wedged under the door handle, pull the door open, and a hideous, earsplitting scream cuts through the air, causing my eardrums to vibrate. Before I can get a word out, I’m greeted with a face full of aerosol spray.

“What the hell?” I cough as the spray fills my nose and mouth and burns my eyes. “Stop spraying that shit!”

“Get away from me!” The banshee shrieks.

I pick up a handful of snow to press over my eyes. “I hope you’re happy. I can’t see a goddamn thing now.”

“Good.”

I can’t believe she sounds so pleased with herself.

“I’ve got plenty more,” she chides.

“What did you hose me down with?” I know it’s not pepper spray because I’ve been exposed to that awful shit during numerous trainings in the Army.

“Perfume.”

“Perfume? Are you kidding me? You’ve jacked me up on perfume?” It smells good, but it sure as hell doesn’t taste good. It’s coating the inside of my nasal passages and tongue and scorching my throat. I keep trying to force my eyes open, but the lids won’t budge.

“Who are you?” She shouts. “Who sent you?”

“Sent me?” I press another handful of snow to my eyes. “No one sent me. I watched you skate all over the road before plowing into the snowbank. I stopped to see if you needed help. Evidently, I should’ve just kept on going.”

“Oh, my God. You really stopped to help me, didn’t you?”

“That’s what kind human beings do. They stop to help someone in need, even in the middle of a blizzard.”

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