Small McDonald's French Fries

"Did the bastard leave?", the fat lady in the ugly dress asked me and the terrified girl next to me.

"No, ma'am, I'm the bastard."

"..."

I was driving down the newly narrower Chapel Street, where my mom had been in a minor car accident a week ago. I had just bought a sweet tea and small fries from the McDonald's down the street and was thinking about the time you and your family came to Mass for your sister's graduation and we drove around and you bought (with my money) small fries from the same McDonald's and I ate them all and you were fake mad then real mad. I had my fiberglass twenty four foot extension ladder in the car with me, sticking out the back the way I always put it because tying it to the roof takes too long and is actually less safe. I was stuck in a lonely memory and couldn't see out my right window because of the ladder. I could see out the left window, where there was a woman in a pink shirt on a bike who looked like she might cross the street. She would soon appoint herself as the citizen witness.

When I looked back at the road, there was a white Lexus driven by a young girl in front of me. I saw a quick look of terror on her face, put all my weight into my sometimes functioning brakes, and gave her a nice bump on the back left tire. Great. I pulled over in front of the gas station, creating a parking space because I had just been in an accident and didn't care where I parked. Two auto body guys came out and asked if I was ok. I was. I ran across the street to where the girl had parked and found her talking to the pink biker woman, writing some stuff down on the back of what appeared to be a printed out prom picture. The girl said she was ok, almost cried, then composed herself again. I nearly hugged her and told her it's alright, but those sorts of things aren't really acceptable from sweaty, bearded, paint covered strangers.

Neither of us really knew what to do, so we exchanged names and phone numbers and apologies. She said she was seventeen and was home from the Cape for the night. After the fat lady called me a bastard and walked back into the laundromat I decided it might be time to leave. The girl and I exchanged nervous laughs. I extended my hand to her, told her "Good accident I guess," and ran back across the street to my car.

I guess it was bound to happen eventually. I'm more lucky than good at this driving thing.