Tales of Ricky #7

This was the third trunk load of household goods that Ricky had taken to the thrift store up the road from his house in as many weeks. The amount of useless clutter that can build up in a few short years is always baffling, and for Ricky, a little nauseating. Each time he dropped off a bag of clothes, he felt a little lighter and more afraid. He never asked for a receipt. Receipts only help if you plan to file taxes.

His house here in Dublin was looking emptier by the day. Last week a group of kids from Ohio State had taken three couches and three chairs to furnish their new off-campus apartment after responding to his Craigslist ad. They paid him $400, but he probably would have let the furniture go for free if they had asked. His lease ended at the end of next month, but he needed to be gone in half that time. He needed to have a few days' head start and he needed to travel light. Other ads on Craigslist showed his bed, his dining set, his end tables and his lamps. Everything must go.

Ricky thanked the two bedraggled men that helped him unload his trunk and gave them each five dollars. He had never learned exactly when it was you were supposed to tip someone and so his default was to always tip. Money seemed to make all his transactions smoother. The men smiled at him and thanked him in return as he climbed into his aging Mercedes. He could easily afford a new one, but this car and he had been through so much together. Plus, a wagon could hold a lot of donatable stuff, and anything else he'd needed to fit over the last few years. He cleaned the carpet in the back religiously. Getting rid of evidence was a habit.

Ricky turned right out of the parking lot and headed east toward the car wash. The sun was shining now after three consecutive days of rain and drizzle. He loved the way a freshly washed car sparkled in his driveway. There was more to do at home today before dark, more store-bought art to take down off his walls. No photographs, though, of him or any of his family. He didn't have any pictures of his brother anymore, and only one or two of his mother. She left one day when he was 17 and he hadn't heard from her since. She didn't take much with her but the pictures.

Ricky scanned the upcoming intersection, always vigilant. His light was green, but the countdown clock on the pedestrian signal was nearing zero, so the amber lamp was imminent. He watched the clock and judged that we would make it. He entered the intersection just as green turned yellow. "Perfect timing," he thought as the he saw the red hand stop blinking. He looked back toward his path and had a split second to see the right flank of white Ford pickup turning left across his path before the cacophony.

It felt and sounded like a journey into an interstellar burst. Time dilated and sound overwhelmed. Ricky felt himself thrown forward and pulled backward, forces fighting to claim or save his soul. The smell of burning metal enveloped him and shards of glass like sparkling stars seemed to orbit his body. And then with a silent whoosh, the sound was gone, though the smoke of burnt metal still lingered. Gravity had come back, shooting stars crashed back to earth, and Ricky found himself still sitting in the driver's seat. He looked out through the mangled windshield and saw the wreckage of the truck, overturned and smoking, half wrapped around a light pole.

"I'm back. I'm back to save the universe," said Ricky to himself. A prayer of thanks and a promise from him to the gods.

Ricky tried the door and was amazed that it opened. He attempted to get out of what remained of his car but found himself still trapped by the seat belt. He unbuckled and exited. He stood there, half in shock, still trying to make sense of his enormous journey. His ship was destroyed. It would never fly again. He patted himself around his head, his chest. Everything seemed to be in order. Pain would come later, but nothing seemed to be acute. It looked as though an empty pillowcase was hanging from his steering wheel.

The police arrived mere minutes later. Ricky still stood beside his car.

"Sir, are you okay," the officer asked. "Is this your car?"

Ricky slowly turned his head to look Officer Priddy in the eyes and in that moment, they recognized each other.

"I'm amazed that I survived," Ricky said, still dazed. "An airbag saved my life!"