Working the late shift had its advantages. He didn’t like crowds much, anyway. Everyone in charge of the day shift was gone by the time Eddie usually walked into the newsroom. It was pretty routine. He’d drive in at seven o’clock, when everyone on the split-shift was at “lunch”. He usually had an idea of how he wanted the stories in that night’s show to appear on the rundown. He’d find the raw video to edit fresh pictures from earlier stories, find the old copy or pull fresh wire copy for the anchors to rewrite. He’d toss the important stories to write on his own desk. By the time the crew was back from lunch, the rundown was set, copy was sitting in a nice stack on computer keyboards, and the video was stacked, ready for editing. That’s what he really liked about doing the late show. There wasn’t a committee deciding every deadline. He was in his own little space of time that he didn’t have to share with anyone.
Eddie was editing stories in his head as he drove to work. Sheets of rain were slapped away by the windshield wipers. He was cruising in the fast lane about 20 miles an hour under the speed limit, when he saw the outline of a man standing in his way. The man was a black shadow outlined in white. A dead man standing in his lane.
He could see the newspaper headline now…LOCAL PRODUCER KILLS MAN ON HIGHWAY. Eddie knew he was going to hit him. The shadow was not moving. Even with time slowing to a crawl, he could tell that the shadow was just standing there daring the night and the rain and the traffic. Or maybe testing the courage of a bottle of whiskey. Or the reflexes of the driver, which also slowed to a crawl, whom fate had picked for this moment. For whatever reason, the shadow was not moving. Eddie suddenly knew what it felt like to be a predator. How was he going to live knowing he had taken the life of another human being? Still believing it was possible to have ethics and call oneself a broadcast journalist, Eddie was going to have a real problem dealing with this man’s death.
Without thought, reflexes swerved his car into the middle lane – not even looking to see if he was turning into a lane filled with traffic. Something told his muscles that it was safe. No one was in the lane beside him. He was driving in the pocket. That space between one pack of cars and another.
Eddie saw the dark, wet of the man’s chocolate brown and mustard gold plaid jacket pass his driver’s window as it brushed over his side view mirror. He’s missed him. Relief.
Suddenly, he went into a skid and spun the car a full 360 degrees. He watched the headlights of the approaching traffic coming closer with each spin – once – twice – three times. Assessing the odds of surviving a head on collision, he knew he was about to die. Eddie was so glad that he’d kissed his daughter good-bye. He was so glad that he and Beth I had made love the night before. He was prepared…know the impact was coming – the crush of a ton or more of screaming metal piling on top of him. It was a good day to die.
Maybe he would be hit on the driver’s side. If he lied down, maybe he could keep from losing his head. Maybe he could save his neck or even his back. Could he live with paralysis? Sure, as long as he had his hands, he could write. His father would have the hardest time if he should die…being so difficult about not taking that corporate job. Ending on the ugly words. His father said that he was deserting his family with his present. If only he’d have given the new job a try, his father said. But ofcourse his son wasn’t someone who could see the advantages! If he’d only change.
“Was this a good enough change for him? Eddie thought. He wouldn’t be deserting his family at night anymore.
The car was stopped. Muscles with a memories of their own had turned into the skid with textbook precision . The car faced in the right direction. The car was stalled. This was good. The impact would come from behind. His chances for survival were better. Stay away from the windshield. Maybe a neck injury. Maybe broken legs. He could get through his.
Eddie’s hand punched up his flashers…would the cars speeding toward him be able to stop in time? The rain splattered on the window blinding him with a blur of lights.
No tires were squealing. Why was he still alive? Small and helpless, he was prey now. Waiting for death…except that his hand was reaching for the key…why? He had tried to accelerate before they hit him. Minimize the impact. The car was stalled. The key wouldn’t start the car.
Gear. You’re in drive.
His hand threw it into reverse. Still no go.
Neutral Eddie.
Right. Neutral. The car starts.
He left the flashers on. Cars began streaming past him in a bumper to bumper rush. He was moving.
I’m alive. I’m driving.
A horn screamed at him. Speeding past him in the slow lane, the car went around him for driving too slow in the middle lane. He was alive. He was up to 45 miles per hours. Flashers off. Right turn indicator.
Get off the highway, Eddie.
He eased into the slow lane and took the first exit. The rain poured down with unconscious will.
Pay attention. Breathe. Don’t relax. Get to work. Then you can fall apart.
He didn’t fall apart. He reported the near miss to the police. “Some bum” they had guessed. He told his crew about his near miss. Near misses were not stories. They responded passively. Eddie stacked the show. Edited 11 tapes. He wrote seven stories. His adrenaline was enormous. He was alive. Even the mud that passed for coffee tasted sublime.
It came across the scanner at about 20 minutes after the newsroom emptied into the raining night. A man had stepped into traffic on the highway causing a 7 car pile-up.
End