I raced out of my last final, ready to start winter break. I had packed my bags that morning, and when I got back to the apartment my roommate was waiting for me. We threw the duffels in the trunk, strategically arranged the snacks (always Cool Ranch Doritos and Diet Coke) for easy access, and got in the car. "Wait! I forgot the fish."
I grabbed the fish tank that I planned to keep at my feet for the drive. They were just goldfish, but I couldn't leave them for two weeks with no one to feed them. "Okay. Let's go."
Allison and I had known each other since we were kids. Now in our senior year of college, we were roommates. We had done this drive many times before, down and back in her little brown Toyota 2-door that she insisted we say was "taupe." That car was our ticket to freedom as soon as she turned 16. She never let anyone else drive it, so I was navigator, snack provider, and this time, fish tank stabilizer.
The drive was a straight shot, the 5 to the 405, exit at the San Fernando Valley. We rarely took the scenic coastal route down Highway 101, not wanting to take the time despite the more interesting view. Besides, it was already after 3. It would be dark in a couple of hours.
We were a few hours into the drive when it started to rain. It was cold, and we were worried about getting through the Grapevine, a stretch of highway that is prone to sudden closures when it snows. Traffic can back up traffic for hours. We decided to take the hit on time and head over to 101 on one of the stretches of road connecting the two highways. After a brief glance at the map, we took the exit marked Rte 46: Lost Hills.
The road was just one lane in each direction, no street lights to mark the way. Allison slowed from our 75 mph interstate pace, but soon felt comfortable with the road, which, though dark, was well paved and mostly straight. We went back to our usual routine, making plans for the break, Depeche Mode on the radio. We could see an occasional house along the road, laughed hard at one with the enormous Christmas lights spelling out "Happy Birthday Jesus" on the rooftop.
And then, I died.
I don't remember anything about the accident. I've been told Allison swerved to avoid an animal, probably nothing more than a raccoon. We went off a ditch at the side of the road and the car flipped. She was fine, but something hit me in the head; the police think it might have been the fishtank. A few minutes later, my heart stopped.
I was only dead for a few seconds, resurrected with a swift thump to the chest by what could have been Jesus himself but turned out to be the owner of the birthday lights house. He ran out when he heard the accident. A short time later, the ambulances arrived.
And then, I was fine.
I was only in the hospital a few weeks. I had to miss my last semester, but finished my classes and graduated over the summer. Allison and I almost never talk about the accident anymore, not because we want to avoid it but because in so many ways it's like it never happened. We took a detour, mine a little farther than Allison's, but ended up right where we started, the only casualties a taupe Toyota coupe and two little goldfish who were never found.
This week's prompt asked us to write a piece - fiction or non-fiction - in which you or your character take a detour. This piece is fiction, though based on real detour I took with my college roommate.
