Persons attempting to find a "text" in this [story] will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a "subtext" in it will be banished; persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise "understand" it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR - Wendell Berry's introduction to Jayber Crow.
This article was posted to Jayber on 5 February 2007 by to the following categories: Feature, Stories.
An audio version of this article is also available.
I've been in a few car accidents in my life--one of which sent my brother, my brother's friend, my Mom, and myself, soaring over an icy jump, howling in unison while we gripped the hand-holds of our fearlessly airborne Celebrity Wagon.
The day started with a trip from Willmar to St. Cloud to play indoor Tennis. On the way back, the highway was packed with snow and ice, but we were cruising along nevertheless, peacefully listening to the radio.
My Mom was driving, I was riding shotgun, and my little brother and his friend were in the backseat. When we were just entering Willmar--right in front of the Highway 71 Bait Shop on Eagle Lake--a man in a red truck pulled out in front of us from a farm road and forced us to change lanes.
Mom, with her usual feline reflexes, started changing lanes, but the road was too slick and we started sliding. Immediately we headed towards the ditch that separated North and Southbound lanes.
As we were sliding out of control, I looked to my right and out the window I saw a mound of snow--definitely bigger than the car--fast approaching. I panicked, but didn't know what to do, so I did what I knew best: clenched my teeth and squeezed the door handle.
We hit the jump going ~50 mph and did a cute little Front-Side Ollie while every person in the car let out simultaneous screeches of various volumes and tones:
When we finally landed, the car almost rolled over on its topside, but ended up stabilizing on all four rims. Mom removed her seatbelt and took a frantic census to see if everyone was alive--which we were. I had conked my head on the window a bit, but nothing serious.
The really amazing thing about all this was that we called a tow truck thinking that there was no way we were going to drive home after taking a jump like that. The tow truck driver, however, popped the tires back on the car, filled them up with air, and we proceeded to drive the rest of the way home.
The man in the red truck? He didn't see us, didn't stop, and we never saw him again.
The End
Yes, Mark, I remember it well…as do you. I’m still amazed that neither we nor that tank-like car were hurt.
Mom
I want to know how Brian feels about being described as a Vienna Choir Boy :)
I don’t think I will ever be able to compete with the plethora of stories you have in your history. Although one time I did take a set of railroad tracks at about 50 mph when the sign said 10 mph, I didn’t see the sign, and we definitely got air.
I can imagine going 5 times faster than the recommended limit would get you some sweet air—if the tracks were set up right.
Although I’ve never been to Vienna, or attended a single choir session I have been labeled quite readily as a “boy”. This is something I have been forced to come to terms with and am now comfortable with the identity I can’t quite Seem to shake. Thanks for bringing up the past Bro’.
Hold the show, there seems to be some family contention over who was in the backseat. Mom remembers Brian being in the backseat, but Brian doesn’t remember it. I hereby (temporarily) vindicate him from the title “Vienna Choir Boy”.