HOLY CRAP it’s December 20th.
As I write this, I’m gearing up for the slow disaster that is socializing over the holidays. Some of you may have a different experience — there are always those weirdos who actually enjoy the holidays and seeing “people” — but I’m all Bah! Humbug! all the way through. Instead of some thoughtful look back on the year or some schmaltzy story about Xmas miracles and he like, here is a ridiculous anecdote from my largely misspent youth.
When I came home from college in the middle of my freshman year, a group of old high school friends had a little party. My friend drove us there in an old-school wood-paneled station wagon I call The Boat. The Boat was huge, which allowed him to transport like eight of us at once, and being a car owned by a broke-ass 18-year old it was a celebration of deferred maintenance. Most notably, its tires, which were so bald they had become tires only in the theoretical sense. There was like a molecule’s-width of rubber between us and oblivion, but no one cared as we navigate the steep, hilly ass-end of the Jersey City Heights, known locally as the Western Slope.
As we arrived, it began to snow, and being unsullied youth (or at least only partially-sullied) this was greeted with joy and excitement. Several hours later, we emerged and some of us were slightly impaired, and miraculously I was not one of them for reason that are lost to time and more successful evenings out. Whatever the reason for my sobriety, I was handed the keys to The Boat and charged with getting us all home.
This should have been an easy enough task, except for the steep hills of the Western Slope. The snow combined with The Boat’s bald tires made getting up those hills a Herculean chore, and within minutes I was leaning forward, head pounding, knuckles white on the wheel as I skidded and shimmied my way up the hills. Luckily, it being Xmas Eve there were no other cars around, so I was able to take my time and coax The Boat up the hills with patience while my passengers mocked me, sang songs, mocked me, and mocked me.
When I’d gotten us back to level ground, I was cheered, and I felt that exuberant overconfidence that sometimes follows minor victories. I steered us towards Kennedy Boulevard, a wide four-lane artery, and hit the gas. As we approached the intersection through the blowing snow, the light turned yellow, and instead of doing anything even remotely sane I gave it more gas, and then attempted to effect a left turn as we sailed through the light.
At this point, the Boat’s tires became less than theoretical and the car entered into a beautiful, graceful spin.
What I’ll never forget is how slow it was. The Boat started to turn left and never stopped turning, and we spun around and around the empty road three or four times in eerie quiet before coming to a gentle, easy rest. We sat for a moment, wind and snow blowing around us, everyone stunned.
With the blank confidence of youth, I turned the wheel, eased on the gas, and steered us back into the correct lane. We drove the rest of the way in silence. At the time it was just a thing that happened. Today, I recognize it as one of many moments when I died in an alternative universe and spawned new timelines. I think of it every time the holidays roll around and I wonder if this is the year Karma catches up to me.
And on that note: Happy holidays!