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So I'm be-bopping down the road the other day, gathering a few last-minute items for my son's birthday party, and out of the corner of my eye I spot a white vehicle coming at me from the right. Only it's not supposed to be coming toward me because I have the right of way. Before my brain has time to analyze the phenomenon, I hear a dreadful boom and feel a breathtaking jolt. Suddenly everything outside my windshield is spinning. Tires squeal. Airbags deploy. Pain shoots through my left arm. And then ... all is quiet. Except Sade, who is still singing from my stereo as if we're still be-bopping down the road. Smoke starts to rise from the dash, and my brain shouts, Get out! Get out! She's about to blow! But I can't move. I am absolutely stunned to my seat. Even though I've done a one-eighty and face oncoming traffic. (Later, I learned the "smoke" actually came from the chemicals inside the airbags.) Nice folks come running up to my door. Someone helps me out. Someone says they've called 911. The young man who hit me apologizes profusely. Says he didn't see me. Says somebody waved him on. (Still unsure what that means.) Says his girlfriend is going to kill him because she just got the car fixed the day before. I feel for him. I think, Don't worry, it'll all work out. But for the life of me, I don't remember if I actually said it.

My shaky fingers dial hubby. Tell him what happened. I hear sirens. I look up and spot a parade of flashing lights coming toward me: fire truck, ambulance, police cruisers. Just like a scene out of a movie. (And by the way, isn't it wonderful we have these specially-trained people who come roaring in like the cavalry during emergency situations and know precisely what to do!) I'm holding my arm. I'm sure it's broken. I tell myself to wiggle my fingers. All five fingers wiggle. I tell myself to raise and lower my arm. Arm moves just as it should. WooHoo! I pull up my sleeve and see a huge red spot on my forearm. I realize the pain comes from an exterior source: the impact of the airbag. 

EMTs lead me to the ambulance to check me out. My blood pressure is through the roof. They offer to take me to the hospital. I decline. Police officer comes into the ambulance and sits. Takes down my side of the story, which the other driver corroborates, and then tells me my car is so bad, it'll have to be towed. Hubby arrives with camcorder in hand. EMT checks my BP again. Much better. I get out of the ambulance. I see my car for the first time. I'm suddenly thankful I was alone. If anyone had been on the passenger side, s/he would've been bound for the hospital. Tow truck shows up. Driver helps hubby remove all my stuff, especially my CD collection, and then drags the crippled car onto his bed. Bye, bye, Hyundai. 

And that's the story of my very first car wreck. Ever. My muscles ached for a few days. My arm carried a fearsome bruise for a week. And my car wound up totaled. But despite it all, my son's birthday party went on as scheduled.  

Our Annual First Chapter Contest is underway! This is our fifth year hosting it and even though we invariably suffer a glitch or two before it's over, we sure enjoy it. One winner will receive $100, three Opinions, website publication and an autographed copy of The First Five Pages, the excellent book written by literary agent Noah Lukeman. In the end, however, every entrant is a winner because all entries receive three Opinions. Details on the website. 

Finally, to celebrate the new VERB format, we are giving away a fun article Ten Steps To A Killer Story with each new subscription. But that doesn't mean you loyal subscribers can't have a copy as well. If you're interested, drop me a line.

Elizabeth Guy
Editor
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This issue 
was published 
under the musical influence of

 BECK
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