After a Whitefish Bay High School volleyball open gym on a beautiful late summer night in August 2005, I drive my best friend Courtney and her fling Mike to their respective homes. Their summer romance, wrought with the wisdom of teenage hearts, is going less than well. Naturally, Courtney and I had devised a plan in which I would take her home first, giving me the opportunity to talk man to man with Mike. After my investigation I would pick Courtney up again to share the scoop.
The plan works flawlessly. Now that I have Mike alone, I get my Sherlock Holmes on, teasing out his intentions for my dear friend. At this point I need to mention, I totally have a crush on Courtney, but have been relegated to the "friend zone". Not only does Mike reveal he is not interested in pursuing anything more, but also he asks me to deliver the break up to Courtney.
My id erupts with fantasies of a fated hook up between Courtney and I. Simultaneously my heart sinks knowing I have to tell Courtney the bad news. Drive around Whitefish Bay, I explain the fate of her relationship. Awash with emotion, she rants about his narcissism. If I'm going to make my move, I need her attention to be on me. Well, all seventeen year old boys know the best way to get a girls attention is by attempting a dangerous and ill-advised high speed maneuver while behind the wheel. Oh, to be young.
Cresting the hill on N Larkin St, I downshift my father's metallic emerald green, 5 speed, 1998 Honda Accord. My pituitary gland fires flushing me with adrenaline. I let off the gas at about 40 mph. Courtney, frantic, asks "What are you doing?!" She hates when I drive fast. Approaching the right hand turn onto N Cumberland Blvd, I cut the wheel. The car is under-steering. I have made this turn at high speeds before, but who knows what went wrong this time: driving to fast, turning to late, a heavier car is harder to turn? Tires screeching, we careen around the bend. For a moment I think "I got it!" Then the rear left tire hops the small curb of the boulevard. Neither one of us makes a sound - the shit has hit the fan. Our perception of time slows to a crawl as it does in times of crisis. The car over-steers. We are pointing at the houses on the East side of the street. Nearing missing trees, we drive diagonally up the ramp of a driveway, still hurling towards the houses at 35 mph. I manage to regain control straightening out on the sidewalk. This would be good had it not been for Cumberland Blvd being a curved road. Now we aren't just on shit creek; we're whitewater rafting it.
We begin to decelerate. 30 mph - another close call with a rock retaining wall on our right. 25 mph - trees blur past our left side. 20 mph - we begin to fishtail into hedgerow. Finally we come to a stop. Neither one of us speaks. I try to back out, but the engine has turned off. I start the car, shift into reverse, and let the clutch, killing the engine. I try again, success. I back out onto the road. In a brief moment of comedy, it appears as though we are perfectly stopped at a stop sign, like nothing had gone wrong. We sirens blaring towards us. "Are you okay?" I ask. Courtney replies "Ya, except that you almost killed me!" I fearfully acknowledge "It is time to go."
I pull over one block North on Cumblerland Blvd. Just as I rip the big stick protruding from the intake of my car, a cop car races past us. He stops at the intersection twenty feet from us. Courtney freaks "What do we do?" Calmly I look at her and say "Grab my hand and walk toward the house across the street. Everything will be okay."
And everything was okay. The car sustained a minor 4" crease on the front left quarter panel above the tire. I told my father that no one was hurt, no one else was involved, and lets never talk about it again, and we didn't. Courtney forgot all about Mike faced with her own mortality. I never drove recklessly again. The police didn't know who had the accident. The residents replanted the dead bushes. The replanted bushes never reached the same height as the ones that stopped my car, serving as a reminder of our near death experience. Courtney and I are still good friends, but in the end, holding her hand that night was the closest we ever got to being more than friends.
43.101995,-87.891636
43.101995,-87.891636
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