It was late. At the time of this story, I was working in a traveling club band, mostly in the New England area. Our home base was Boston so if the club was within a reasonable distance we would leave the equipment and drive home after work was over. This night we had been working in Framingham which is about a half an hour west of the Boston area.

The club had closed at 2AM and the minimal amount of tearing down we did for the night had taken approximately another hour so by the time we were on the road it was about three. Route 9, the road I was driving on, is a relatively straight, two-lane road but is full of crests and valleys along its length. There was little in the way of traffic at that hour and I was cruising along at or near the speed limit.

I had crested a fairly sizable hill and was just beginning the long descent when I noticed a car getting set to exit a parking lot at the bottom of the incline. I moved over into the left lane and took my foot off the gas the better to slow down if necessary. The other car began to slowly inch out of the parking lot as I approached. As I drew nearer, the other auto continued to ease out on to the roadway ahead of me.

A mentioned, I was in the left lane so this encroachment didn’t bother me, until I was nearly upon them. Just as I was about to pass the slowly moving vehicle continued to ease across the lanes and when I was upon them slid in front of me. On my way down the hill, I had noticed that the parking lot from which this vehicle was exiting was a bar. I guess I should have exercised due caution upon that discovery but I was headed home after a long night and it was late.

I had consumed a couple of beers earlier in the evening but knowing I would be driving I had later deferred so I was in complete command of my faculties, the other driver maybe not so. Highway 9 has a median protected by guard rails and I was running along right next to it. Farther along the road has guard rails on either side leaving traffic somewhat compressed between the two sets of rails. Just as both our vehicles were about to enter this hemmed in area, my nemesis pulled directly in front of me.

The sound of the impact and subsequent folding of metal as my front end collapsed, startled me as well as my passenger, a South American fellow who we employed as a drummer at this time. I stopped my car and we watched as the other veered crazily sideways, fishtailing actually, until they rammed against the outer guard rail before finally lurching to a stop.

Gustavo (i.e., the drummer) and I leaped from the car just in time to see the gas tank explode and the other car burst into flames. Visions of a fiery rescue danced in my imagination, when suddenly the car doors burst open and the five occupants sprang from the burning car. I was never quite as relieved as when this occurred. I had had nightmarish visions of pulling badly burned victims from the wreckage and the ensuing chaos so this favorable denouement was wholly preferable.

The police soon arrived and separated us into different parties the better to take our conflicting stories. The girl driving the other car was wailing about how her father was going to kill her for wrecking his car. I was thinking she had nearly saved him the trouble when the officer I was speaking to apprised me of the fact that my version of events had been confirmed by the passengers. It seems the girl driving had been drinking copiously just before leaving and had refused offers to be relieved of her duties as driver.

Gustavo had banged up his knees slightly but otherwise we had escaped unscathed. Not the same could be said of my car, which sat by the side of the road bent into an accordion. After a quick jaunt to the police station, I called a brother before returning to the accident scene and he came to our rescue. As we pulled away, I glanced back at my demolished front end alongside the smoldering ruin and contemplated my fate, a good one for all of that.

© Stephen Alexander 2008

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