The crushed whiterock in moonlight–at least, when the moon was full–it gave off enough glow to see by without headlights.
We would drink too much and drive too fast and try to prove ourselves wrong concerning our invulnerability–our untouchability–although by then a few of us had already provided examples of what happens at the place where the law of averages catches up with you.
It was a little like a game. We would turn the lights on as soon as someone suggested it. But no one wanted to be the one to suggest it.
I don’t know who the first one of us was who veered from the right to left side of the road, adding a complicating element.
Is it still a game of chicken if only one of you knows you’re playing?
I was in the passenger seat when it happened, something only those in the car witnessed, something only those people who witnessed it would believe.
The window was down, and I had extended my hand to let the wind ash my cigarette for me when the car with no lights went by on our right. I could just make out the front seat passenger in the other car’s dash lights, their face a mirror of mine, their mouth a big black O.
