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Hour Thirteen
Every couple minutes, Radar says, “Do you guys remember that time when we
were all definitely going to die and then Ben grabbed the steering wheel and
dodged a ginormous freaking cow and spun the car like the teacups at Disney
World and we didn’t die?”
Lacey leans across the kitchen, her hand on Ben’s knee, and says, “I mean,
you are a hero, do you realize that? They give out medals for this stuff.”
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I wasn’t thinking about none of y’all.
I. Wanted. To. Save. My. Ass.”
“You liar. You heroic, adorable liar,” she says, and then plants a kiss on his
cheek.
Radar says, “Hey guys, do you remember that time I was double-seat-belted
in the wayback and the door flew open and the beer fell out but I survived
completely uninjured? How is that even possible?”
“Let’s play metaphysical I Spy,” Lacey says. “I Spy with my little eye a
hero’s heart, a heart that beats not for itself but for all humanity.”
“I’M NOT BEING MODEST. I JUST DIDN’T WANT TO DIE,” Ben
exclaims.
“Do you guys remember that one time, in the minivan, twenty minutes ago,
that we somehow didn’t die?”
Hour Fourteen

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Once the initial shock passes, we clean. We try to shepherd as much glass from
the broken Bluefin bottles as possible onto pieces of paper and then gather them
into a single bag for later disposal. The minivan’s carpet is soaked with sticky
Mountain Dew and Bluefin and Diet Coke, and we try to sop it up with the few
napkins we’ve collected. But this will require a serious car wash, at the very
least, and there’s no time for that before Agloe. Radar has looked up the side
panel replacement I’ll need: $300 plus paint. The cost of this trip keeps going up,
but I’ll make it back this summer working in my dad’s office, and anyway, it’s a
small ransom to pay for Margo.
The sun is rising to our right. My cheek is still bleeding. The Confederate
flag is stuck to the wound now, so I no longer need to hold it there.