Red Leaves. Paullina Simons

she went around the bend in the road, she saw an oncoming car, and because it was dark, and she judged the narrowness of road conservatively, Kristina instinctively turned the wheel to the right. But the lights were rushing headlong toward her. The other car still seemed perilously close. She turned the wheel a little more and heard the noise of her right tires hitting gravel. The Mustang bobbled, and the wheel became unsteady in her hands. To compensate, Kristina quickly turned the wheel to the left.

      She overcompensated.

      The car jerked, and she panicked and slammed on the brakes. The Mustang swerved, the brakes locked, and the car reeled sideways on the narrow road - directly into the headlights of the oncoming car.

      Kristina heard the insistent and unremitting noise of the horn and the screeching of the other car’s brakes. The instant the Mustang was bathed with light, there was a loud crash and Kristina was thrown against the driver’s side window. She heard glass breaking.

      The Mustang swirled around twice and flew backward down the embankment. Kristina’s life came to a standstill. She had just enough time to think, ohno, ohno, ohno, I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die! and then the car turned over once in midair, and came down with a thump to stand on its tires, a few feet from the water.

      Kristina opened her eyes and closed them again, opened them and closed them. She could see nothing at first, it was so dark. She thought, am I dead? Open-eyed, yet unable to see, just dead. No feeling anywhere. Nothing moved. Dead. But something gave away life. Something. She couldn’t figure it out at first, something real-life, familiar, unotherworldly.

      She heard the radio.

       So let’s leave it alone, Cause we can’t see eye to eye There’s no good guy There’s no bad guy There’s only you and me And we just disagree...

      She reached over to turn the damn radio off and thought, I don’t think they play easy-listening music in the afterlife.

      She felt no pain. On the other hand, that was good. Who wanted to feel pain? On the other hand, dead people felt no pain.

      There was a rustling of leaves, branches, the sound of feet shuffling down the slope, hurrying. Somebody at her driver’s side window. A man, with terror in his eyes and a bloody nose, mouthing, are you all right? Are you all right?

      Kristina tried to roll down the broken window, but it was jammed. Actually, she couldn’t get a grip on the handle. Her hand was not obeying her. The fingers were not closing.

      She tried to nod, but that didn’t work either. I’m all right, she tried to reply, but couldn’t hear herself. She just wanted to get out of the car. Wait here, she heard the man say. Wait here, I’m going to go and get help. Just you wait, he said.

      She leaned back in her seat. Well, I’m not going anywhere, she thought. Where would I go? And then she thought: home. I wouldn’t mind going home.

      But where was home?

      My room. My messy room with my little bed and my desk and my dog lying on the bed smelling up all the blankets with his dog smell and dog hair. It’s the only home I have, and I want to be back there right now.

      She reached down and tried to pry the seat belt off herself. Was the car still running? She couldn’t hear very well. The seat belt had locked, and was digging into Kristina’s rib cage and right hip. What possessed me to put one on tonight? she thought. Well, doesn’t God protect the wicked and the damned?

      She clicked open the seat belt and moved her right hand across her body to the door, which would not open. And the window would not roll down. The headlights of the Mustang weren’t on, though she was sure they had been on. What had happened?

      And then she felt cold. She wondered if it was because she was dead, and getting colder by the second. But no, her right hand was moving, and her legs were moving sluggishly. The passenger window was broken.

      She slowly moved over to the passenger seat and tried to open that door. It was jammed. So she got up with her knees on the seat and tried to climb out through the broken window. Climbing out was not easy. She couldn’t lift her left arm to prop herself up. Finally she nearly fell out with a thump down to the ground. She fell on her good arm, but not her good side. She was still feeling no pain.

      Shit, Kristina thought. Hope I’ll be okay for Saturday’s game. Hate to sit out the first league game of the season.

      It was very dark. She tried to orient herself. Where’s the lake? Okay, it’s in front of me, because behind me is the hill, so if the lake is in front of me, that means it’s on the left side of the road, which would be west, and that means Hanover is just a few miles north as the crow flies.

      First she had to get up the brutal hill. She couldn’t see. She groped around, lost her footing, and fell - on her left side. A sharp rocket of fire exploded in her arm, and she fainted.

      She came to some time later. It was still dark, still no sign of police or an ambulance, still eerily quiet.

      All she wanted to do was get back up on the highway and start walking home. Maybe someone would pick her up. She didn’t want the man to come back with help. Help invariably meant an ambulance, which - from everything Kristina knew about ambulances - would probably take her to the hospital.

      Kristina hated hospitals. She had been in one only twice in her entire life, and once was when she had been born.

      She certainly didn’t plan to be taken to a hospital tonight by a well-meaning stranger just because of a locked seat belt and sore ribs.

      So she got up off the ground and tried again, groping at something to hold on to while with one good hand she dragged her body up the hill.

      Two cars went by. She heard them slow down - probably to see the car that had hit hers - and then speed on ahead. But the few seconds gave her enough light to see that the highway was only another ten feet up, and there were some shrubs she could hold on to.

      Hurry up, hurry up, she kept telling herself. Hurry up, Krissy, hurry up, Rocky, pull yourself up. She slipped on the hard ground every couple of seconds. Like a football team after a penalty, moving ten yards back after winning the territory, she kept slipping.

      She felt a rock with her knee. Oh, that hurt. I felt pain! That’s so great. She grabbed on, pulled herself up, felt in front of her for something else to hold on to; there were a few pebbles, but little else. Where are those damn shrubs? As she struggled up the hill, she whispered haltingly, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear the very stories prate of my whereabout… Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear the very stones prate of my whereabout… Hear not my steps…

      Kristina heard other cars coming, thank God, and here was some more light. Not far to go at all, we’re almost there. But there was nothing to clutch now, and in desperation, she started to claw at the ground with her hand. Her left arm was immobile. She felt her nails bending back and breaking, but she didn’t care. What was important was getting back up. With her new black boots she kicked into the ground like a rock climber.

      Finally, Kristina climbed up onto the two-foot-wide shoulder, and rested for a moment to catch her breath. She felt fluid dripping from her head. Kristina told herself it was sweat.

      The man had said he was going to get help, but how he would do this was a mystery to Kristina, since his car was smashed and off the road. She didn’t give it any more thought than that. She was glad he hadn’t come back. In a childish gesture, she wiped the dirt off her knees.

      Then she began to walk to Hanover. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, she eventually broke into a slow jog on the shoulder of Route 10, just to get farther away from the Mustang, the reservoir, her new purse, and the man who had gone to get help.

      When she got up to Hinman, she realized she had left her keys in the ignition and had to shiver near the doorway until someone came out and let her in.

      Aristotle wasn’t in her room. The bed had not been made from this morning. The desk had all kinds