“What do I do?” Mom screams over the high-pitched blare. “I can’t pull over!”
“You have to.” My throat feels like it’s full of cement, but I need to squeak these words out. “Like, immediately.”
Are we actively involved in a police chase right now? Oh my God. We are actively involved in a police chase right now.
Our futures flash before my eyes.
Handcuffs. Prison jumpsuits. Cardboard food. Lots of… concrete, I guess? Metal bars. We’ll be totally separated. She’ll be having an Orange Is the New Black moment with a zany cast of lesbians and ex-prostitutes. Meanwhile, I’ll be living on the set of Oz — surrounded by Hulk-esque monsters with chips on their shoulders. Reliving my childhood bullying nightmares in a constant daily loop for the next twenty-five years.
“I literally can’t pull over!” Mom points out my window at the very obvious lack of a shoulder on this busy main road. “Do I just stop right here in the middle of the street? Fuck! Joey! I’m so scared. It can’t be happening like this. I should have turned myself in when I —”
“Here!” I say as we pass under a bridge. A wide breakdown lane opens itself up to the right of us. Perfect for getting arrested in. “You can pull over here. If we make them chase us, they’ll just punish us that much worse.”
Mom puts her hazard lights on and comes to a stop after sliding past the thick white line. The blare of the siren gets louder and louder as the cop gasses it…
And speeds right past us.
His car vanishes into the black hole of the road ahead.