My Less Happy News
If you'll allow me the whimsey of applying the term to an inanimate object, I lost a good friend on Tuesday.

I'm not hurt. I'm fine. I have one bruise running from my left shoulder to my right hip, another one horizontal and low across my hipbones, and a scuff like a bad carpetburn on the inside of my left arm. I may have one bruised or cracked rib.

I was in the center lane of a three-lane southbound interstate when I thought the car in the left lane was starting to merge into mine. I started to move to the right lane.

Based on the skid marks, it all took place over about 75 yards (split the difference between 50 and 100 yards--I walked it, but I was too busy thinking about whether or not the sheriff had taken my license, proof of insurance, and registration with him when he left). Doing the math and assuming for simplicity's sake a constant velocity of about 67 to 70 miles per hour, the next sequence of events took place in about half of a second.

I felt my car start jerk to the right. I yanked my wheel to the left. My back end slid and I skidded across my lane and the left lane. At some point, the car in the left lane hit my back, driver's-side door. At another point, the front end of my car hit the concrete barrier running down the center of the interstate. At the end of it all, I was stopped, facing the correct direction, in the left lane under the shade of an overpass.

It's amazing how right my nightmares got it, long before it had even happened: that sinking feeling of a worst case scenario come to life, the terrifying helplessness of no control at all. Two jarring thuds, like a rough ride at an amusement park.

Then the air was filled with haze and a strange smell and my chest hurt and the car wasn't moving and I thought, simply, "I need to get out of the car. Someone might hit me, and that haze might be smoke."

I got out. That's when I knew for sure I was okay. I was alive, I could stand, I could walk and I could breathe. My chest hurt and my arm hurt but none of the pain was sharp or intense.

My car wasn't so lucky.

Most of my family names our cars. Mine, an '03 Honda Civic Hybrid, was Jim. I bought him used in January of '06. He was the first car I'd ever bought. I've always thought of him as a scrappy little mustang stallion. He's small and dun-colored, and he's not sporty or fast, but he's tireless and reliable.

I hit that wall at probably something like 60 miles per hour, but my seatbelt and the airbag held me down, and the headrest kept my head and spine aligned. Jim's crumple zones took the brunt of the force out of the impact. His front end caved in, with the hood ending up bent, showing off his insides. His engine was wrenched back at least a foot into the firewall. His back door was crushed.

But I was fine. Bruised and shaken, but fine.

On Friday, I got the call from the body shop saying the damages were at least 4,000 dollars more than what Jim could possibly be worth. He's totalled.