An Occurrence on Interstate Five

It must have been in that instant, when time and space shut down into the absolute certainty of collision, that Grandma, before thought and before fear, yelled “Hold on,” and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The massive V-10 engine gave back with a powerful burst of acceleration just as the semi grazed the top of the RV with one spinning tire, then crashed to the earth behind. The motor home swayed and bucked from the impact, but Grandma held fast to the wheel, focused in the eye of the crisis.
Once the RV was steady on the road, she eased off the gas and checked the dogs with a quick swivel of her head. The old one, who rode next to her in the passenger seat, and the other two, in the back, sat with ruffs big and ears on alert—but all appeared unhurt. She whooshed out a breath in huge relief. Then she glanced in the side mirrors and saw, back down the road, vehicles slowing and gathering around the semi which had rolled into the swale of the median. A police car in the oncoming lanes, siren doppling, rushed toward the accident.
She thought, “I should go back.” She slowed down, and at that moment of intention to return to the crash, a strange exhaustion slid through her, sapping her strength and will. She slumped in the seat, arms sagging and vision graying out. But just as her foot slipped off the accelerator, two percussive yelps ripped at her ear.
“Damn,” she shouted, jerking upright and sharply correcting the drift of the RV. The dogs whined and sank their claws into the seats. “Settle, guys,” Grandma urged. Then, to reassure both herself and them, she announced, “Okay. Everything is fine. I’m just a little shaky from the close call. We need to go home now. I’ll call the police from there. Let’s just . . . get home.” The two younger dogs lay down, sighing, at her words, but the old one, the smart one, looked at her with worried eyes, then stared intently at the road ahead.
Their exit sign loomed over the lane, and Grandma guided the lumbering RV onto the county road. It was just a few more miles to her house, but she had to slow way down because a sudden mist, rising from the surrounding fallow fields, had thickened into an outright fog. Peering down from the high cab, she followed the yellow center line, grateful there were no other cars on the road. She reached over to ruffle the stiff fur of the old dog beside her. She heard the syncopated panting of the other two dogs behind her, and pictured their dark intelligent faces. The headlights bounced off the wall of fog ahead, and she felt as though she were piloting a bubble of life through a gray, amorphous, ancient space.
The fog was so dense and grainy Grandma almost missed her driveway, but she’d been keeping a close watch for the blue mailbox with the mums growing beside it. She pulled in, stumbled down out of the RV and plodded back to open the coach door. “In the house,” she commanded. The dogs jostled and barked as they jumped out of the camper, and circled impatiently while she unlocked the door. She followed the eager dogs to the kitchen, weariness pulling on her shoulders. She poured out kibble and ran water into various bowls, then paused to watch her dogs with tenderness as they crunched through their meal. The kitchen phone, clinging to the wall, reminded her to call the police, but when she picked up the receiver, there was only static. “I’ll try again later,” she thought.
She shuffled into the small living room, and with a weighty sigh, eased onto the couch and lifted her feet to the coffee table. The dogs leapt up to be beside her with satisfied, full-belly groans. She spread her arms, encircling her dogs, her pack, and looked out at the fog. It clotted cool and wet against the window pane. She thought “I got them home,” then tumbled away into a warm, heavy contentment, almost like sleep. The dogs nosed for her scent in the pillows of the couch.

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