Plunging into Insanity...

I think it was Fall, I'm not really sure. I'm not really sure about a lot of things, still.
I know it was early evening, not quite dark but a little dusky, not cold, and I was on my way home from auditing Professor Bob Ratner's Holocaust Class in Humanities at UNC-A. Bob was my boss...not at the college but at work where he was the Rabbi and I was the Administrator for the Congregation and his personal assistant. He was brilliant, fascinating, and I took advantage of everything he wanted to teach me.

Alan Jackson was singing "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning, on that September Day."
The rag top was still on my Miata, it wasn't cold enough for the hard top yet... and my world was about to shatter along with my mind.

Suddenly my car lurched to the right, right off the Interstate, and all I could see was a stand of trees coming closer, ever closer, TOO CLOSE. I jerked the wheel to my left and was on the highway again but I was heading across it toward a barrier between me and oncoming traffic. I was aware of the traffic behind me  - a line of headlights in two lanes - but they were standing still and just before I would have hit that barrier, my car spun around and left the ground. It came down upside down, made another revolution - up and down and over and under and then righted itself. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, I never had. I figure if I'm in a bad accident in my Miata, chances are nothing would save me anyway. Does anyone know that my car is so small and so low that if a cop stops me he has to get on his knees to talk to me? My hands were not on the steering wheel any longer. And I was in the left lane, driving normally with traffic beside and behind me. No one was honking their horns at me and Alan was still singing the same 9/11 song. I was perfectly intact and from the inside, my car seemed to be, too. A man in a truck passed me on the right with neither a honk or a frantic look on his face. He wasn't even looking at me.

The exit ahead was a familiar place with an Ingles and a Mc Donald's so I pulled off to park in the lot. I was shaken, a little sore on my right shoulder, and wanted to take a close look at the damage to my car. My precious Miata. Two seater roadster, Midnight Blue. No more kids to haul around, just me and a friend or my dog. With the top down, I could get a tan, the wind whipping through my newly blonde hair (and yes, blondes do have more fun) and the music blasting loud. Right up to Winter, with the heat blasting. I had wanted it for so long and it cost so much but I finally got it; brand new 1999 and now fully paid for by me, myself, and I. There was not a single mark on it. Not a dent, not a ding, not a scratch, nothing.

I calmly drove the rest of the way home, never said a word about it, and went to the bathroom to check myself out. Same deal. Not a bruise, not a scrape, not a bump, same old me. What the Hell just happened?

For days and weeks, I went back to the place where my "accident" happened. I looked at the road and I looked at the trees, and I looked at the grassy areas. No tire skid marks, no ruts in the grass, trees still standing straight and tall. No evidence. Nothing. No cross on the side of the road - good news. I checked my car out from every angle every day - did I miss somethng? No. The sore shoulder went away and still no marks on me, zero, zilch, nada. And still I said nothing and went on with my life, wondering... how can this be? 

To be continued...