Okay, I’m going to control the spin of this story. It’s come to light recently that Max Brown and I were in a wreck this morning. I’d like to share the events of the wreck so there is no misunderstanding of what happened.
Max and I drive down I-35E, soon to be the Kyle’s Civic Memorial Highway. We’re playing our favorite car game, where Max makes tiny mouse noises and I make tiny cat noises and we try to decide which noises we love more, then we name the mice and cats.
Ahead of me, roughly ninety feet or so, a man has parked perpendicularly
across the HOV lane to take night time photographs of himself and the bluebonnets. It is dark and the vehicle is unlit and there are no street lights. There is no way to avoid it.
I can remember just before I strike the vehicle.
“Max,” I say. “There is no way to avoid this.”
Max sighs and looks into my eyes. I look into his, deeply, as a dog does its owner while being given an unwanted bath.
“I know, bud,” he says. “You think I have time for a quick nap before impact? I have to go to work in the morning.”
I look up at the approaching vehicle. The driver waves at me from the median. I shake my head.
“Why don’t you just shut your eyes for a bit?”
I watch as the man skips across the HOV lane and gets into his truck.
“Looks like we’re about to have an ‘Armageddon’ moment,” I say.
Max’s eyes pop open.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You were always like a son to me, Maxy,” I say.
“Oh shut the fuck up,” he says, sitting up in his seat.
“Take care of Evan for me.”
“Bull shit don’t make me Ben Affleck. I’m Bruce Willis and you f–”
We slam into her vehicle with tremendous force.
“OH GOSH!” Max says, waving his hands in the air wildlly as our vehicle spins out of control.
“M-O-O-N THAT SPELLS MOON!” I scream, my brain misfiring from the shock.
“This is just awful!” The man from the other car screams from my backseat. Max and I turn around simultaneously.
“AHHHH!” We scream.
“AHHHH!” He screams back.
“AHHHH!” Max and I scream, now looking at one another. We turn back and the man is gone.
The vehicle comes to a stop.
“Oh my,” I say. “Oh my.” I am gingerly patting the stinky pillow in my lap. ”Where did you get that stinky pillow?” I ask him.
“I think it’s the air bag.”
I look down at my bag and scoff. “Should have these on the outside. Could have turned that very bad experience into quite a comical one.”
Max and I laugh hysterically, holding each other tightly.
“Oh,” Max says. “Smoke.”
There is smoke coming from my dashboard.
“Time to get out, I guess,” I respond.
Just then, an ambulance pulls up. It’s a convertible.
“Somebody in need of some emergency men-ical teet-ment? He asks, eyeing Max. We are all of us confused.
“I am!” the man says. The ambulance driver rolls his eyes and says “No chicks allowed” and pulls out.
“No chicks allowed,” I whisper as he drives away. “Well Max–ready to get out of here?”
“God, yeah,” he says. I pop a Blue Monster, pour it down his gullet, pick up my guitars and hop on his back.
“Yah,” I say. “Into the abysmal night.”
And on we went.
*This is in no way intended as an actual statement of the events of that night. In reality, they were much sadder and more painful and there was a ton more bloody snot than shown in this post. Please pray for the soul of my Honda Civic, which is now in the most beautiful wing of that great parking garage in the sky.*