Devonne Brown

On the customary bread and milk emergency bread and milk run, I got through the light at the bottom of the hill when the car died in the middle of the road, halfway between home and Walmart. My silver car matched the grey of the day. Since my hazard lights weren’t working, it might not be too long before someone hit the back of  my car.

I was a snowy statistic. 

Did I have water, a blanket, or a flashlight in the car like I was supposed to in case of a winter road disaster? Of course not, I had art supplies, a ratty copy of the Telltale Lilac Bush, and a trash bucket of empty Diet Coke cans. 

What was I supposed to do? Illustrate pictures of ghost stories while I waited for a good samaritan to stop by and save my sorry ass, or a salt truck to ram the backend of my car?

I took a drink from one of the two half frozen Diet Cokes from previous store trips in the console. 

The battery on my phone was fine, so I was able to call for roadside assistance and pray that Triple A would arrive with their magic before disaster struck. 

The snow began to fall in steady silver dollar flakes before the car got cold and the first jolt came. I spun sideways across the road. The day darkend, the car was struck from the passenger side.

I was told I hit the window.

I didn’t need bread nor milk.

I was on a bourbon run, my elixir of life.