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Here’s proof that we indeed live, as Voltaire liked to joke, in the best of all possible worlds. At least I do. (Not sure about the rest of you.) Of course, this assumes that in no world did I manage to avoid a big-time car wreck. Saturday morning, hoping to make a SIBA tradeshow signing in Greenville, I drove at the upper edge of the speed limit despite the obvious fact that rain had been falling on the roads for a solid day or more. Smart. Fortunately, I drive extra safe in light traffic. But with the road empty for a mile front and back, I was free to excel.

Already, I’d called people with Blair to let them know I’d arrive a bit late for my signing. It was 9 am, and I couldn’t push from my head the image of, like, a hundred people with long, weepy faces crying, “Where is the author of Through the Pale Door? I drove all the way from Charleston in hopes he’d be here to sign my book, or at least pose with me for a photo!” Well, that vision was more like three irate booksellers who would soon find another book and another author to fill their attention. Still, not insignificant for a first-time author.

Then the road took a hard curve and my wheels lost their grip on the asphalt. It was like navigating an exit, except it was a highway. The car spun and rolled to a stop in the middle of the two lanes. Contrary to what one might expect, I walked toward the roadside completely uninjured save a few scratches. Slouched against the concrete barricade, I scooped chunks of windshield glass out of my shoes. Meanwhile cars rolled past. Someone leaned out of a passenger window and said, “Hey, that guy looks like Robert Pattinson!” A first responder looked at a slightly bruised elbow. Then the highway patrol arrived and dealt with mounting traffic. As they approached, their expressionless faces seemed to say, “Hey, that guy looks like the dumb ass in question. But don’t make him feel too stupid.”

I called family.

Then I called Blair, to let them know I wouldn’t make it after all. Some confusion ensued. As many people who now me will attest, I’m dry and non-expressive at times (what some would call laconic). When the Blair people picked up, I said, “Looks like I’m not going to make it. I’ve got sort of a traffic accident up here.”

My contact said, “Well, we can talk about rescheduling when you get here.” Then she added, “Betsy’s here if you’d like to talk to her.”

Turns out they thought I was describing a traffic accident I was driving past, not an accident I was in.

Not sure how long I waited in the damp chill for the towing people. One officer pointed out that a motorcyclist had gone airborne at this section of highway last year. We know what happens to motorcyclists who go airborne. The tow-truck operator also brought to my attention that a van had spun out at this spot the week prior, plowing through another car’s windshield, with similar results. “Good thing you’re car didn’t go up over the edge of the bridge.” Indeed. What seems to be a hill is actually a bridge with dense trees and foliage growing up one side.

In a rental car, I drove back to Greensboro and began fishing for a replacement. The wrecked car now lies in a collision repair shop, and will soon make a final trip to the scrap heap.

Reflection is a bitch. What a difference 5-10 mph would’ve made. If anyone would like to contribute to the help-a-writer fund, please go here.