A trip to the Snow!

Flash Fiction

^{By Bryan Blake}

                                                              

Narrator:          It was decided, that the family would drive up into the mountains and spend a day snowboarding and playing in the snow on the first Saturday of the Christmas vacation. To do so would require driving up Tollhouse Grade  in to the “High Sierra’s”. The seventeen year old son had been driving for over a year, and it had also been decided, that he would drive. 

                          The father didn’t approve, he said the boy needed more experience and in addition he had never driven on ice and snow. The father was quickly out voted as the mother and the boy’s little sister pointed out that the boy was a good driver and that the father just didn’t want to give the boy a chance.

   On the appointed day the family loaded into the car which had been packed the night before and were off for a fun day in the snow. The boy’s mother and little sister rode in the rear seat.

   The boy’s hands were sweaty as he gripped the wheel. He passed a semi on the two-lane road and made it back into the right lane just as he headed up a long hill with a double line. They were in the foothills east of Fresno and would soon be entering the famous “Tollhouse Grade”. The sun showed bright reflecting off the snow covered Sierra Nevada mountain range. It was exciting… a day in the snow.

   The boy relaxed and leaned on his door, taking control with his right hand at the top of the steering wheel he pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Although the speed limit was sixty, he didn’t let up until the speedometer read sixty-six.  Topping one of the hills….

Sister:              Oh Mommy, that was fun. I felt my stomach come way up.

Mother:           “It’s a fun day isn’t it?”

Boy:                 Six miles over the limit, I won’t get a ticket for that. Besides, I’m a good driver.    

Narrator:          The father rode in the passenger seat with his fingers laced together over his right knee. He bit his tongue to keep from speaking knowing he would be ridiculed. He simply checked his seat belt, and leaned back against the headrest. Finally, when he couldn’t hold it any longer,

Father:             “Better take it easy, Son, it’s a two lane road. We’ll be starting up the grade very soon.”

Boy:                 I’ve been driving for over a year and he still thinks he has to tell me how to drive.

Mother:           “Now Daddy,” the mother said in a somewhat bitter tone, “you know how you jump on me when I backseat drive. Give the boy a break, he’s a good driver.”  

Father:             “I’m not being critical, I just want to help. The boy needs to learn. Better keep both of your hands on the wheel, these mountains are dangerous.”

Boy:                 He thinks he’s the only one in the world that knows how to drive. When will he shut up?  

Father:             “A blind curve ahead, better slow up a tad, you never know what’s around the bend.”

Narrator:          They were going up the grade and hairpin curves came one after another with a road only wide enough for two cars and every curve was blind.

Boy:                “Yes, Pop! I’m staying on my side of the road,”

Narrator:          The boy continued to power into the curves.

Boy:                 “Can’t you leave me alone and let me drive? I’m a good driver, one of the best in my class.”

Father:             “You’re driving over your head and drifting over the line! Keep your eyes on the road ahead. You watch the road, we’ll watch the scenery.”

Boy:                 All he does is find fault. I’m sick of it. I’ll be glad when I don’t hear his voice..

Mother:           “Daddy, Leave the boy alone. He’s a perfectly good driver.  You just make him nervous.” She reprimanded.

Narrator:          The boy continued to take the curves faster than he should have, climbing higher and higher up the mountains. They would soon be above the snow line. Toll House Grade is famous for its horseshoe turns, steep grades and high elevations

   The family was stuck behind a two and a half ton straight truck loaded with horses, for far too long to suit the boy and he couldn’t wait to pass. At the first opportunity, he goosed the powerful Buick Roadmaster and roared around the truck with ease.

   The Buick was like an army tank, big and heavy, with enough power to move as though it were a sports car.

Sister:              “Look! Snow, I’m going to make snow balls.”

Narrator:          The weather had gone from sunny to overcast. As they climbed, snow flurries filled the air. Traffic being light, the boy pressed on in a hurry to reach their favorite toboggan slope.

   The boy’s father bit his tongue and wrung his hands nervously, and then leaned back and closed his eyes—tight.

   They topped a summit where the road leveled for a couple miles, then started a steep downhill grade for a few more before the final stretch, which was another five miles. 

   The boy had been waiting for his chance. He stepped on the gas and sped around a long string of cars, and then let up, as he entered a curve at the bottom of the hill. The road curving to the right was sharper than expected and the Buick crossed the centerline. The boy’s father grabbed his knees and tightened his eyelids.

   The boy panicked and slammed on the brakes in the middle of the curve. The Iron Monster quickly spun around and shot off the road leaving all the occupants in a confused panic.

Mother:           Loud scream!

Sister:              Loud high pitch screams!

Narrator:          The car was now moving backward down the mountain and the boy assumed he must have knocked the gear lever into reverse. In his moment of panic he pushed the lever up and with a bang, he was sure it was in park, he pushed on the brakes as hard as he could. The powerful Buick sped faster and faster, and even faster, in reverse. The tank raced down the hill backward at top speed until it reached the bottom of the gorge, crossed a stream and continued up the opposing mountain, where it finally came to rest, balanced on top of a huge boulder.

                          The car rocked back and forth, the wheels in midair never making contact with the surface of the rock. Without traction, the Buick teetered on the rock, wheels spinning and the engine roaring at top RPM.

The boy’s father still had his fingers laced together and eyes closed.

Mother:           Screams at the father, “Why didn’t you help the boy?”

Boy:                “It ran away,” the boy screamed, “it wasn’t my fault, I had my foot on the brakes but it wouldn’t stop.”

Narrator:          Little sister shook with fear and held onto her mother crying.

Sister:              Mommy, Mommy, hold me Mommy”

Father:             “Take your foot off the accelerator, Son.”

Narrator:          The car became quiet.

Father:             “Turn off the key”

Narrator:          For an instant, there was not a sound.

Boy:                Looking around to his mother, “It wasn’t my fault.  It’s this old car,” Then looked at his father, “I told you to buy a new one. I was doing fine until it went berserk.”

Mother:           “I’ve been after you forever to trade this old thing in on a new one,” the mother said sarcastically.

Sister:              “Daddy never listens does he Mommy,” Little Sister say’s, frightened, looking up while still holding on to her mother.

Mother:           “Thank God we’re all alive. No thanks to your father!”

Narrator:          Father leaned back and closed his eyes.

Father:             Give me a moment or two to review my options.” I wonder what China is like or Australia, maybe Aruba or even Iran.

Narrator:          The father opened his eyes and opened his door.

Father:             “I’ll go for help. Stay in the car until help arrives. If you get too cold start the engine and turn on the heater.”

Sister:              “Mommy, Daddy didn’t say good bye.”

Boy:                “He probably feels guilty for not buying a new car. He should”

Mother:           “Yes. Your father is a strange man.”