The Longest Ride

comes in waves; I’m almost certain my right arm is broken. Collarbone, too. My shoulder throbs, and the slightest twitch is agonizing. Despite my jacket, I’m already so cold that I’m shivering.

I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t afraid. I don’t want to die, and thanks to my parents – my mother lived to ninety-six – I long assumed that I was genetically capable of growing even older than I already am. Until a few months ago, I fully believed I had half a dozen good years left. Well, maybe not good years. That’s not the way it works at my age. I’ve been disintegrating for a while now – heart, joints, kidneys, bits and pieces of my body beginning to give up the ghost – but recently something else has been added to the mix. Growths in my lungs, the doctor said. Tumors. Cancer. My time is measured in months now, not years… but even so, I’m not ready to die just yet. Not today. There is something I have to do, something I have done every year since 1956. A grand tradition is coming to an end, and more than anything, I wanted one last chance to say good-bye.

Still, it’s funny what a man thinks about when he believes death to be imminent. One thing I know for sure is that if my time is up, I’d rather not go out this way – body trembling, dentures rattling, until finally, inevitably, my heart just gives out completely. I know what happens when people die – at my age, I’ve been to too many funerals to count. If I had the choice, I’d rather go in my sleep, back home in a comfortable bed. People who die like that look good at the viewing, which is why, if I feel the Grim Reaper tapping my shoulder, I’ve already decided to try to make my way to the backseat. The last thing I want is for someone to find me out here, frozen solid in a sitting position like some bizarre ice sculpture. How would they ever get my body out? The way I’m wedged behind the wheel, it would be like trying to get a piano out of the bathroom. I can imagine some fireman chipping away at the ice and wobbling my body back and forth, saying things like “Swing the head this way, Steve,” or “Wiggle the old guy’s arms that way, Joe,” while they try to manhandle my frozen body out of the car. Bumping and clunking, pushing and pulling, until, with one last big heave, my body thumps to the ground. Not for me, thanks. I still have my pride. So like I said, if it comes to that, I’ll try my best to make my way to the backseat and just close my eyes. That way they can slide me out like a fish stick.

But maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe someone will spot the tire tracks on the road, the ones heading straight over the embankment. Maybe someone will stop and call down, maybe shine a flashlight and realize there’s a car down here. It isn’t inconceivable; it could happen. It’s snowing and people are already driving slowly. Surely someone’s going to find me. They have to find me.

Right?
     

     
    Maybe not.

The snow continues to fall. My breath comes out in little puffs, like a dragon, and my body has begun to ache with the cold. But it could be worse. Because it was cold – though not snowing – when I started out, I dressed for winter. I’m wearing two shirts, a sweater, gloves, and a hat. Right now the car is at an angle, nose pointed down. I’m still strapped into the seat belt, which supports my weight, but my head rests on the steering wheel. The air bag deployed, spreading white dust and the acrid scent of gunpowder throughout the car. It’s not comfortable, yet I’m managing.

But my body throbs. I don’t think the air bag worked properly, because my head slammed into the steering wheel and I was knocked unconscious. For how long, I do not know. The gash on my head continues to bleed, and the bones in my right arm seem to be trying to pop through my skin. Both my collarbone and my shoulder throb, and I’m afraid to move. I tell myself it could be worse. Though it is snowing, it is not bitterly cold outside. Temperatures are supposed to dip into the mid-twenties tonight but will climb into the high thirties tomorrow. It’s also going to be windy, with gusts reaching twenty miles an hour. Tomorrow, Sunday, the winds will be even worse, but by Monday night, the weather will gradually begin to improve. By then, the cold front will have largely passed and the winds will be almost nonexistent. On Tuesday, temperatures are expected to reach the forties.

I know this because I watch the Weather