no fatalities

"over two dozen cars were involved in a delayed chain-reaction style accident on Interstate 20 late last Friday night, initially caused by an overturned eighteen wheeler. there were no fatalities." - the mobile register

he said once that he knew they were related because they were both saturated in the sadness of the world. when he said it, which was probably during thanksgiving last year, she imagined them as pieces of bread, sopping up gravy. now they were driving to mobile from birmingham, late on a friday night, to visit their grandmother who was about to die. she decided it was time.
i want to talk about dad. she rolled down the window, even though they were going 80 miles an hour and the wind stung.
ok.
can i smoke in here?
he looked over at her, her long hair completely eclipsing her face, and laughed.
you have smokes?
yes.
where did you get them?
what do you mean where did i get them? i bought them at the gas station on montevallo before we left.
just wondering. that was sneaky.
how was it sneaky? you were pumping gas.
so do you smoke now?
not really.
well anyway, go for it. lets talk about dad.
do you want one?
he looked at her again. she had gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail and was holding it there with her right hand.
sure.
she tried to take one out of the pack of Marlboros with only her left hand, but after fumbling for a minute she gave up and let her hair dance furiously all over the passenger seat so she could use both. she pushed the lighter in and sat still, with two cigarettes in two separate hands.
i think we interpret him differently. or i think we did interpret him differently.
how so?
the lighter popped out and she put both cigarettes in her mouth at the same time to light them. she handed one to him and rolled her window up half way.
you're...what? twelve years older than me? of course we interpret him differently.
but how did you mean? like, when you started this conversation, what were you getting at?
i see him as flawed.
there was silence as both of them took a drag.
i see him as flawed too.
but you see him as this mythological, romantic figure. this tortured soul. this great man who happened to be a drunk. maybe he was great and romantic because he was a drunk.
i hate it when you call him a "drunk." call him an alcoholic or something. its not he stank, its not like he wandered the streets naked.
i have no idea what he did, actually.
you can't say that.
yes i can.
there was another silence. they were just passing by trees. hours and hours of shapeless, scary forest.
see...this is my point, she said. you argue with me about the way i saw him. i was still young when he died. i was in elementary school when he was at home, drinking. you were in college already. you had a radio show and you were taking mushrooms. it probably was cool for you to have an alcoholic dad.
you really can't say that steph.
alright sorry.
so.
so.
are you angry?
about what?
about how i see him?
i think so. ive been trying to figure it out.
from the darkness in front of them a stationary light appeared and before either of them could say anything their car crashed into metal.
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they had had sex once, awkwardly. crying was involved, on her part. but that was over a year ago and they had maintained the friendship, whether by denial or a healthy pushing aside of the memory. it had been her birthday. now they were driving from montgomery to dolphin island with almost all of her belongings in the car. she was moving to the beach for the summer.
thanks, by the way.
of course.
what a way to spend a friday...
i don't mind heather. seriously.
she turned the radio up. "american pie" was on, one of her favorite songs.
this is one of my favorite songs, she said.
i know.
she rolled down the window a crack and she sang along to every word.
this is my favorite part, she said, pointing to the radio as if it actually held the words. "do you believe in rock and roll/ can music save your mortal soul/ and, can you teach me how to dance reeeeeal sloww?"
he was in love with her. not because she sang all the words to "american pie" or because they had sex once. if anything it was despite those things. she was a terrible singer and the sex was the worst he had ever had. he wasn't sure exactly what it was that made him want to impress her, to make her laugh, to surprise her, shock her, tickle her, hold her, chase her, listen to her. but he had known it since the first time he had seen her, at a halloween shop in five points. she had a wig on, and she was with his childhood friend luke, and she had turned around and said, now i always have to wear this wig around you.
i kind of don't want to move. i just didn't know what else to do. i mean, what am i going to do on dolphin island all summer? the only time i've ever been there i went with my grandmother and my mom, it was right before a horrible hurricane hit, and i ate two grilled cheese sandwiches and bought a tacky glass unicorn from the souvenir shop. i still have it of course. its in my bag now.
he laughed. why a fucking unicorn?
i have no idea! i imagine i'll be doing a lot of boring, strange things like that this summer. i'll write you cheesy postcards and tell you all about them.
i can't wait.
what are you going to do? no summer school, right? just hang out in montgomery?
i don't know yet. my dad lives in north carolina you know. i was thinking about going up there. just for a change of scenery. i don't think i could stand montgomery all damn summer. god it makes my stomach sick.
i know, she said as she was surfing through the stations. she found a britney spears song and turned it up loud.
you bitch, he said, and she laughed out loud, a harsh, real laugh, and then he screamed "holy fuck" and slammed the brakes and tried to turn the wheel but still, their car crashed.
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they had left the office late and now it was dark and they still had over an hour of driving to do before getting to pensacola, which is where the conference was this year. last year it was in macon, georgia, the year before in charlotte, north carolina. this was awkward, he thought. maybe he shouldn't have suggested that she come along. it was going to be a weekend of meetings and seminars in a hotel. maybe that's inappropriate, he thought. he was starting to get paranoid and had to mentally calm himself down. he wasn't taking her on a romantic getaway, this was approved by HR and by his boss and no one thought it was weird. he wondered if she knew he was gay.
this may sound strange, she said, but mind if i smoke?
no! he said too loudly. go for it. sometimes i do too. maybe he should have added "at gay clubs" casually to see how she reacted. but that would have been strange.
she was about ten years younger than him and a very good employee, straight from graduate school. he liked working with her, she seemed calm and smart and fun. they had taken a tequila shot at the bar beneath their office once after a three hour long meeting. then they went back upstairs and giggled in the elevator, and he never told anyone. he wondered now if she did.
man, she said. i'm tired. i'm kind of excited about getting away for the weekend. i love hotels, no matter the reason. other than having to stay in one for a few hours because your flight got cancelled. thats pretty much the only time i don't like hotels.
oh i know! how awful is that! you don't have any amenities, and you're already dirty and tired.
its the worst alright. the absolute fucking worst.
he liked her. maybe he would just come out and say it. he'd been out of the closet for years and years, why was saying it to her difficult?
so are you dating anyone, she asked.
perfect set up, he thought....perfect set up. he was about to tell her about clyde, this promising guy he met at a dinner party last week when he noticed what looked like a massive traffic jam ahead of them. he slowed the car down and leaned forward.
oh shit, he said. hold on.