Brake Failure
I originally wrote this piece for my photobook “18”, which you can see more of here
photo by Zinnia
I don’t die, but it feels like I’m about to. Both my feet are pushing down on the brake but the car won’t stop. So I try one foot on the brake, while the other desperately tries to kick the gas pedal out of it’s stuck position. That’s not working either, so I go back to method #1. Pressing down the brake pedal with both my feet, all my weight. The lever moves, but even with the full force of my might, I can only bring the car down to about 50mph.
It was sudden. The car was cruising at a cool 35 until I tried to slow down and instead went faster. I thought I’d accidentally stepped on the gas pedal, but no. I’m not in control of this car, speeding down Venice Blvd in slow motion.
What flashes before my eyes, in this moment that I accept death, is not my own life. Rather I recall a scene from Ugly Betty. A character barreling into a tree after her brakes were cut telenovela style.
I start laughing, because I haven’t even thought about this show since I was in middle school. And what an unsatisfying last thought.
But there are more important things to think about. Up ahead is a line of cars stalled by construction. And I can’t stop! There’s a center divider on my left, and four lanes of traffic in between me and a right turn. I’m not sure if people have time to react if I swerve, or if I’ll be able to maintain some control of the vehicle. I’m about to go for it, quickly scanning for a tree, a pole. Some item that I can crash into and stop this fucking car without taking anyone out with me.
Instead I notice a tiny side street, that must have always existed yet never appeared on my radar before. With a deep breath, I make the craziest skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt I’ve ever done, or ever will do in my life. Still pressing on the brake without response, I force the car into park and pull the keys out with all my might. It grinds to a halt, though it felt more like I slammed straight into the ground. I’m okay, though shaken up and incoherent. My head ringing from the screeching sounds.
My mother comes to rescue me, as she always has. I can barely blubber out what happened over the phone, I just make it clear that I need her, now. She arrives with my one year old baby sister, who I calm myself down by playing with. Always courageous, my mother’s first instinct is to turn the car on and see what the hell I’m talking about. But I forbid it, seeing as how it is an actual death trap.
So instead, she waits for AAA with me, praising the benefits of their membership all the while (I’m open to endorsement opportunities @AAA). When the technician, arrives, I beg him not to turn it on as well, lest he too fly down the street. But this is not a necessary diagnostic step. He’s able to find the problem by just opening the hood, reaching down towards the brakes and pulling out a black object. It was the cap to the headlight, which had fallen off and lodged itself into a place it had no business being. This cap was pushing the accelerator all the way down, with a force that the brakes had been unable to counteract.
photo by Zinnia
I had been terrified that I was going to die, while silently accepting it. For someone who had had so much anxiety over getting behind the wheel in the first time, you would have thought that this would be it for me. But this accident actually reassured me greatly.
It gave me the certainty that I could remain collected amongst the uncertainty that scares em so. One more emergency situation crossed off the list of things I got under control.
