Saturday, 8/7/10 - Balance

Terry holds his breath and tenses as the world rises then falls beneath him.

One less drink. That's all, just one less drink and he wouldn't be on this teeter-totter, things would be solid again.

One less drink. Damn! One less drink and he would be driving, Ellen would be nodding off beside him and he wouldn't be lying in the back of the SUV near the open hatchback door afraid to move.

He hears the wind blow through the empty window frames and feels the truck tilting forward, the earth rising. Insects of broken glass skitter forward across the floor as he pushes himself a little further backward toward the open hatch. The frame creaks as the wind subsides and the truck sinks back down.

He knows that a strong gust can push the truck over the edge. I can make it, he thinks, all I have to do is roll out the back. It would be easy enough. One quick move. Over and done.

But, in that move, other things would be done, too.

Without his weight, the truck would slip over the edge and free fall sixty or eighty feet into the river or onto its rocky bank.

He looks down at Ellen slumped in an odd position over the steering wheel. With one arm draped over the dash and through the missing windshield, it looks as if she is straining against the seat belt trying to reach something out on the hood.

The weak moon provides only enough light to turn the blood seeping from her head to black oil. She has not moved in several minutes and he cannot tell if she is alive or dead.

His first attempt to reach her caused the truck to pitch forward so that he he saw nothing but the blackness below. He quickly pulled back and has been staying still while calling her name.

If she wakes, I have to keep her calm, get her to move back this way. If she panics and moves forward, there is nothing I can do.

He closes his eyes and listens for passing cars. He prays that they see the skid marks, the broken guard rail and his damaged silver Lexus RS300. He imagines them yelling down that help is on the way and pictures the red and blue flashing lights of the emergency vehicles as they arrive.

"Ellen," he calls her softly but she doesn't respond. "Ellen."

The wind gusts and glass fragments swarm forward.

With a slow nod, the Lexus surrenders.

"Ellen!" As he rolls backward onto the scree, Ellen looks up toward the sound of his scream.

NOTE: There is only so much that can be done in the short time available for these posts. The picture is from tonight's photo shoot (the young actors were amazing). The story needs so much more to be complete. But then, this is just a scratch pad, a place to sketch ideas.