LAROUE TOURNE/Oborne the cold pavement through the thin soles of my patent leather shoes. The ground was solid, though I had stepped on it expecting it to sink under my feet. I surveyed the car as it rested crookedly, left front tire in the ditch. The trunk looked like crumpled paper. "Are you all right?" It was that man again. He hadn't dropped out of the sky, after all. He had been driving the Impala I had hit. "Yes, I answered cheerfully, "I'm fine. Are you all right?" The man started to speak, when a pretty woman, who was suddenly standing beside him, said to me gently, "You'd better sit down, dear." I noticed I was a little wobbly, so I sat down on the edge of the car seat, leaving the door wide open and my feet on the pavement. "Why doesn't somebody call the police?" I asked suddenly. No one responded! Irritated, I repeated, "Why doesn't somebody call the police? Just go over to that house and call, OK?" Another car had stopped and the driver obediently left us to make the call. I shivered. "I'm freezing," I said, putting my hands inside my coat sleeves. The wind was tying my hair into stringy knots and I couldn't get back inside the car because it was flocked all over the inside with a fluffy yellow substance that looked like it could be the stuffing out of the seat. The front seat itself was broken back almost level where Charles' weight crushing against it had ripped it off its bolts. "What's that stuff all over your car?" the nice lady asked. I studied it carefully for a moment and then in horror, gasped, "It's my cake. My beautiful cake!" My face was frozen, ready to cry. "I know," Charles told me, walking over to peer inside the door, "I've got frosting all over me!" He looked so funny that I had to smile as I wiped some of the yellow stuff off the curl that flopped down across his forehead. "To hell with the cake, lady," a man said, "it's a good thing these kids are alive." The man was silent. "Look, do I have to stick around?" It was the man who's car I'd hit. "We were going to this benefit concert up here and we're late now." His car wasn't badly damaged. I squinted at it in the dimness of the street light which our car had missed hitting by inches. "I think there's a law," I answered authoritatively, "against leaving the scene of an accident." A pause. "Where is that dumb policeman?" I scowled, apparently echoing the thoughts of the group. Finally a police car appeared quietly and undramatically out of the night and parked in the middle of the highway, its red light gaping at us. Moments later it was joined by a twin, and two dark-suited, stern policemen emerged. The driver of the car that hit me finally appeared and I recognized her. "Hello, Susan," I said, adding stupidly, "fancy meeting you here." She giggled, apparently she's only had a bloody nose judging from the brown smear across her upper lip. "I was going to the party," she answered, sheepishly, "and I've got cake all over my car." Then I smiled numbly and she followed me to the police car. "Boy, your car is nice and warm," I sighed, "I was freezing out there." "May I have your driver's licenses and your registrations?" The policeman didn't look up from the paper. The Impala driver and Susan were sitting in the back and I turned around slightly to look at them. The man looked grim. "Why don't you take care of him first," I suggested, "he's in a hurry. . So was I but it looks like I've got a wait ahead of me" I smiled, but the officer was silent. "All three of you fill out these papers." The policeman still kept on writing. "I don't have a pen," I said. Susan handed me one, and we wrote for a while. The car was quiet except for the scratching of pens and the groaning of the red light above us. "Your light sounds like a washing machine," I said quietly. The flashing of the light on the car ahead of us plus the noise was giving me a headache. Everyone glanced at me except the officer. "If you need your license numbers, they're on this card." "Shall I put down my uncle's name?" I asked, adding 8 "I can't put down my husband's name I'm not married. My father's dead. My mother lives in Alaska. That's why I asked. Shall I put down my uncle?" For the first time the policeman looked at me. He was unperturbed, but slightly quizzical. "Put down your uncle," he said. I suddenly realized how glib I sounded and finished answering his questions soberly. No, nobody was drinking. No, my seat belt was not fastened. (Why did I feel so giddy?) Suddenly I noticed Charles standing very still by the wrecked car. "Sir," I spoke cautiously, "can Charlie get in and keep warm?" The policeman nodded, and I gladly climbed outside and summoned Charles to get back in with me. As he slid heavily into the car he smiled, "This is the first time I ever got into a cop car voluntarily." Everyone, including the cop chuckled quietly. "Boy," I told Charles, "I wish I didn't have to call up Uncle Andy on the phone to tell him about this. I'd rather look at him with my baby-blue eyes and say, 'Dear Uncle Andy, my favorite uncle, I've wrecked your car.'" I pretended not to notice that the policeman was now watching me. Suddenly he asked Susan, "You hurt, Miss?" "No," she answered, "just a bloody nose. But my mom is going to be upset. I'd rather tell my dad. He'll just yell at me, but Mom will start bawling." The policeman was writing again and Susan kept talking like a mechanical toy that had been turned on. "It's a good thing I didn't have the new car tonight. But then my dad refuses to let me even touch it." "That's very smart of him," I said. She punctuated my statement with another giggle. The policeman handed her a pink slip of paper. "Improper Lookout" it said. She had glanced at her watch as she entered the intersection and had hit me going fifty miles per hour. Finally the forms were completed and we were told that we could leave. I sat still for a moment and looked at the glass and oil shining on the black road where the cars had connected, and at the empty spot that was left when the wrecker had towed the Rambler away. "Will you take us up to that building so we can call someone?" Charles asked. The policeman nodded. In a moment we were out of the police car and in fresh air. Again the pavement was cold and surprisingly solid beneath my feet. "I hurt a little after all," I said, rubbing my neck as the policeman drove away, "and my shoulder is stiffening up on me." "We'll call Uncle Andy," Charles said, and I withered at the thought. "You'd better not go on to the party until a doctor has checked you." He put a heavy arm across my shoulders. Pain cut through my neck muscles, but I didn't shrug him off. He was being maddeningly fatherly and yet I loved him. I rubbed my neck and thought about the party. "Hell!" I said, savoring the impact of the word, "Hell." Charles looked at me, expressionless, and we entered the building. DESPAIR Brown barked Hawthorne bribing Autumn sun To drip yellow dew into Summer leaves. Scarlet berries stretch, splitting Crimson skins That spurt red sprays onto Autumn leaves. Grey leaves grope, grasping Spindled twigs To seep wet sap into Winter leaves. Brown barked Hawthorne stands Brazenly naked. -Marilyn Taylor 9