I’m unabashed in admitting my many flaws and fears, even the ones I carried with me into adulthood. Some of them are clearly ridiculous; like my fear of dark stairwells, while some I consider pertinent. The one I’m going to discuss now has been in the forefront of my mind lately, probably due to the time of year and my current home location. Black ice, snowy roads, torrential downpours; it be slippery out there.

I love music of all kinds. My favorites definitely have a heavy bass line and drum beat, as being deaf in one ear from the accident interferes with the way I hear sounds. I prefer to feel them AND hear them, if you catch my drift. I love driving alone in my car, because no one can understand how I’m able to listen to one song on repeat for an hour straight, or even understand my music preferences half the time. Life is much too short to deal with people telling you to turn the volume down or put another song on. I don’t have time for that kind of negativity in my life. While most of the music I listen to would be considered “cool” to many, I definitely have some suspect favorites that I listen to on the down low. When I pull up to a red light bumping beats or the newest Khalid joint I don’t feel it necessary to turn the volume down. Duh, of COURSE the 80 year old lady in the 99 Toyota Camry wants to hear Lil Wayne croon about drugs and Easter pink Sprite. But when I’m sporting my vacant Savino stare while Wonderwall plays in the background I make sure to turn the volume down at the stop signs and lights. I have an image to protect, you know?

Because of the treacherous winter weather and the late hour I tend to drive home from work in, my mind cycles through the million ways I could perish on the ride back. My biggest automobile fear, which I have thought about day in and out for years now, is what is playing on the radio when my car spontaneously bursts into flames or explodes in an accident. What if I’m driving, and delicate flakes start to fall; the highway is relatively empty and I have Pandora on, phone attached to the dash like it should. The, song changes, and Ed Sheeran’s “The shape of you” starts to play. Brow furrowed I reach for the skip button, unable to understand why the AI threw that one in the mix. “Shit this is terrible” I say to the empty car. My finger slips, and presses “repeat” instead of “skip”. My car has drifted the tiniest bit to the right in all the mad commotion; I hit the rumble strip and a slick patch of ice, and the ASC kicks on, causing me to jerk the wheel. The car starts going sideways, Ed is hitting his crescendo now, and even though the music is undeniably loud I barely hear him. The car turns, catches and flips; it’s skidding down the highway on its roof, metal and plastic flying until the guardrail and embankment stops the propulsion.

The police siren precedes the cruisers, and the two men step out onto the cold highway. There is a trail of debris and destruction, fluid has leaked all over the blacktop and there are pieces of the vehicle everywhere. One back tire cants sideways, still partially spinning off the axle. Shattered glass is strewn about, and the officers step over it lightly as not to slip on ice, snow, and glass. There’s a body upside down in the front seat, still buckled in, arm bloody and partially hanging out the shattered window. It’s cold. The flakes which started only moments ago are coming faster now, little white swirls and specks.

The Shape of You plays at almost max volume, stuck on repeat, crooning Ed’s voice into the dark expanse. The song ends, then begins again.

The first officer calls it in while the second picks up the cellphone thrown outside of the vehicle. “Female victim, texting and driving?” Officer one asks, for he’s seen it all to many times.

“No Sir, no texts. Actually, it looks like the only one she receives messages from is her Mother…. 14 hours ago. Nothing since then.”

“Could you reach in and turn that shit off? It’s deafening. Why the hell did it start over??”

Officer Moore checks the music setting, and turns it off, bringing blessed silence to the scene. “It’s on repeat Sir, Lord knows how many times she had it going- and I checked her call log, nothing Sir.” Scrolling through the lists, he turns to the reporting officer and locks eyes, “It’s strange Sir. No calls for weeks unless it was her Mother or Father, no texts; it’s like she had no friends. The Ed Sheeran on repeat, Millennium Falcon decal on the back window… maybe it was suicide?”

“What a loser” Officer one mumbles aloud.

“Yeah, what a poor, hideous loser. Do you see the size of those hands Sir? Looks like oven mitts with acrylics”.

End scene.

So that’s something I think about a lot. A valid fear, and my only hope is that the responding officer has the human decency to turn the music off before Hyannis News makes it there. Lord, if you’re listening, I better not limp away from it either- if it goes down like that you better be prepared to bring me Home.