i walk. and walk. and walk faster. the snow lessens in my mind. i drift into a jog. then a brisk jog, then a rog. then a run. then i'm running as fast as i can, my unmittened fists swaying in the hurricane-gale winds. i'm sure i leave behind footprints but there's no looking back now. i sprint so as not to see the street, only the highway yonder in the sunset. which is the sunrise. classes would be starting soon, buses and charters would be arriving, doors would be shutting, i vow to never be a part of a line again.
i screech over the paltry plated barriers one-inch high on the grass. under the highway bridge and onto oncoming traffic. i still have legs, i can move. but the light is too bright. those dual lights from that 18-wheeler truck with the honey grill which plows right into me, two bright ufos perfectly backgrounded by the pink dawn. see? it's dangerous to go toward the light.
no. it can't be that easy, can it? no. i have my whole life ahead of me. in my room. it's not really my bedroom anymore, it's my room. the truck swerves at the last minute of course, barely missing my tongue, crashing into the divider and unleashing all of the contents of its trailers onto all the roads, gumming up transportation for at least a day.
i don't remember much. just stained glimpses and splotchy spots of singing sorrow. i'm in the cab. next to me is the driver humming an unheralded holiday ditty out-of-tune to keep up my spirits. Adam something. he wears a garland of Christmas lights around his neck, but the bulbs are too medium that they don't stand out. when he opens his mouth flies and other winged caterpillars come out if it. later, he tells the police reporter that actually it was i who had flies in my mouth.
the truck is a Macy's truck. the table of contents has spilt. all of that Macy's inventory is ruined. clothes from the Kardashian mother, shoes from the Ball father, perfume from Bjork that doesn't sell.
"Macy's should go back to selling toys," the driver laments. but it's too late.
later at the hospital, the police reporter gently orders me to fill out my version of events. it begins like any of my other college essays:
what has 18 wheels and flies?...
my family picks me up. eventually. as they are obligated to do.
Anderson Cooper is having a hard time.
Andy Cohen: okay let's do this trivia. first question: are you finding it difficult to concentrate at work?
Anderson: um, yes.
Andy Cohen: second question in the form: are you irritable, distracted, suddenly unmotivated?
Anderson: now that you mention it.
Anderson blows up on national tv. like a robot.
Anderson: keeping them honest i want to say keeping them honest i never knew keeping them honest how much i needed love keeping them honest till i was blue. keeping them honest.
Andy: oh no. i was afraid this would happen. sucker up, sweetie.
Andy plants a big one on Anderson's lips.
Don Lemon: dammit. that was gonna be my revolutionary move on hated national tv. i was gonna smooch my man. why do i always have to come on after you, Anderson? i'm the brave one in the spotlight here. out in the open still checking my twitter.
Anderson: just call me Black Lightning.
Anderson and Andy leave together, arm in arm, shoulder in shoulder, down the rickety staircase. during the commercial break.
Omarosa: hello America! that's my cue. i'm taking over! i'm raising my arms high up in the air just like Oprah!
Andy: wait, who dis? who are you? nuh uh, you're too much drama for me, girl. that's not my style.
Omarosa: my name is Felicia.
Kathy Griffin: *on the phone* Coop, let's all sing Deacon Blues together as the countdown runs out.
Anderson: this is the only holiday that's celebrated at different times by different people. do you know the words to Deacon Blues?
Anderson: thought you wouldn't. hey Randi, you sports fans over there surely know the words to Deacon Blues.
Randi Kaye: ............................
Omarosa: America needs me. America needs to see me. there is no one like me on tv. and now it's time for me to do my Black Panther interview. wait who is this?
Robin Roberts: that's Lupita Nyong'o.
Robin Roberts: *crying* god dammit! i didn't fight my impossible illness and battle losing hope and stay on this earth to interview the likes of you!
Omarosa: are you addressing me or Lupita?
Robin: i'm dressing down YOU!
Omarosa: please. we must stop this. the civil war must end. let me be your Vice President and we'll call it even. i'll even be an honest broker and share Gayle with you. with me in your orbit you're sure to win in 2020, The Boondocks predicted it.
Robin: man you don't watch The Boondocks.