My weak smile must have served as confirmation, for when I impulsively mentioned my car
had taken a dislike to someone who had spilled beer on her seat, he whooped and slapped
his thigh.
“That’s a good one: a car with vanity instead of vanity plates. Don’t tell me: it made a mad
dash for the car wash where it demanded to be detailed.”
Jumpsuit’s comments hit hard; I was chagrined at anthropomorphizing an automobile.
I immediately dumped Tootles — the name, not the car — and ceased aimless drives.
The first weekend in October, I was en route to my cousin Lakshmi’s wedding in North Carolina
following a leisurely route along the Blue Ridge Parkway. My attention was captured by the
crisp air and glorious views of yellow and russet-red leaves carpeting the hills when the
DLCx rounded a tight curve and I glimpsed an oncoming car in my lane. I lunged for the wheel,
but was too slow.
When I regained consciousness, my car was speeding along a state road. The crash cocoon,
now crumpled around me, had deployed, but my head hurt and blood was dripping on my
shorts. I put my hand on my head to stop the bleeding, too stunned to do anything else.
In short order, the DLCx delivered me to a hospital. By early afternoon, I was patched up,
sitting on a bed, and under siege; Officer Guzman, an impeccably dressed member of the
National Park Service, was bombarding me with questions.
“Your car was in its own lane when you saw the other car?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t driving?”
“No, as I told you, I was taking video with my Total Tech Device.”
“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t take the wheel when you knew an accident was imminent?”
“Yes. I mean no, I didn’t take the wheel. I tried but there wasn’t time. I came around the
corner, and the other car was just … there, in my lane, and my car swerved.”
“You said you were knocked unconscious?”
“Yes, when the crash cocoon exploded, the Tech Device hit my head. I have a slight
concussion.”
“But you regained consciousness several minutes later and the car was already headed
to the hospital.”
Summer/Fall 2015
25