"fuck us . . . "

(yeah, it's been a while. here's one that I finally dusted off and completed. be forewarned:

for the younger readers and the easily offended (the title might have given some indication) this story contains a flagrant abundance of the 'f' word (37 times. yeah, I counted). Gotta be some kind of a record somewhere. just sayin'. . . . enjoy!)

“Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us . . ."

It was a strange choice of words, but given the circumstance it seemed to be a fairly acceptable creative, emotional, verbal compromise.

I was grateful for his words, as nonsensical as they might have seemed, for they gave vocal expression to the searing tension that was escalating rapidly inside the cramped interior of that rented white Toyota Vios Compact (Trust me . . . you don't wanna know why we’re in a rental, my friend whispered to me just before we left) hurling head-long -- once again, into oncoming traffic as we were attempting to overcome yet another slow-moving vehicle on that steep Northern Thailand mountain pass.

The rest of us chose silence as our refuge; haphazardly vacillating between not-so-convincingly feigned indifference and flagrant wide-eyed panic.

Don’t ever get in the car with a Thai girl behind the wheel.

Ever.

Still, I had -- dare I say -- almost grown comfortable by that point; almost confident in her ability to seemingly render the impossible possible. I had -- we all had -- sweated our way through one close call after the other for the last couple of hours -- all with what could be described as 'favorable' results (i.e., we were all still alive).

We had, in fact, narrowly passed so many vehicles by that time; survived so many should-have-been-fatalities that even the most apprehensive verbal challenges raised by fellow passengers (a fairly common feature during the earlier stages of the trip) had de-escalated to little more than an occasional barely-audible gasp. Up until this point I had actually come to believe that she might have possessed some order of a superhero-like power that enveloped our car in a Star Trek-like force-field.

Even this belief, however, was not enough to hold my, or anybody else’s confidence this time 'round.

No, this was not good.  

And we all knew it.

This time she had indeed over-committed.

"Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us . . ." he echoed heedlessly.

The driver from the on-coming vehicle began flashing his high-beams erratically in our direction. No, this was not a good sign. Until this point it hadn't even registered that this might be a utilized practice on these windy Thai mountain roads. With the numerous close-calls that we had perspired and endured our way through over the last couple of hours, this was the first time that I had seen this reaction. This flashing of the high-beams only seemed to confirm what we were all already aware of . . .

This time she had no doubt pushed her luck -- our luck -- a little too far.

The tiny 4-cylinder engine whined and screamed in an agonizing, eerie high pitch as she -- as she had done time and time again -- dropped the automatic transmission into a gear that she had long-before deemed a 'passing gear'. Judging by the 'dentist-drill'-like frequencies being emitted by the Japanese transmission as it was forced to endure RPM levels generally reserved for Formula One Race Cars, untold years of life were being sucked and drained from the tortured cylinders every time that they had to endure that near-lethal dose of adrenaline mainlined into the fuel system.

I stole a quick glance upward, reluctantly surrendering the temporary sanctuary of my lowered gaze in the backseat of that tiny, little Japanese hatchback. Horror twisted and contorted its way in into the expressions of each and every face in that stuffy box on wheels as the distance between our vehicles closed to seriously-concerning proportions.

"Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us. . .” he repeated in a rhythmic, almost sing-song pattern.

He was the fifth passenger in the vehicle that day -- a friend of a friend -- a last minute addition; and as such, regardless of the fact that he was more than likely one of the largest bodies in the vehicle at that time, was reduced to the dreaded, cramped middle position of the rear seat; his neck craning slightly as his melon bounced intermittently on the fabric-covered ceiling above. It was here -- here in this space generally reserved for a much smaller physique that he had unwittingly become the voice -- the mouthpiece -- for a car full of now panic-stricken strangers collectively, mentally preparing to be splintered and fragmented into tiny little pieces.

"Fuck us. Fuck us. Fuck us . . . "

He could have been a monk chanting his way into his next life.

"Fuck us!  Fuck us! Fuck us . . . ! "

Chanting us into our next lives . . . 

Fear boiled to a whole new level as the on-coming driver began to honk his horn incessantly in-between the flashes from his high-beams. I watched her knuckles getting whiter and whiter as her hands bit deeper and deeper into the fake leather covering the steering wheel -- the gas pedal still pinned to the floor; the engine ever-strained to capacity as it screamed it's dreadful, shrill monotone wheeze.

The space between our two vehicles began to close to a horrifying, obscene distance. If the two cars had been stopped at that same distance (a minor fantasy at that point, I'll admit), I’m sure -- sure -- that I could have easily hurled a stone and hit the other car.

"Fuck us! Fuck uS! Fuck US! FucK US!  FuCK US!  FUCK US! FUCK US! FUCK US!! FUCK US!!!"

I glued my eyes shut and braced for impact.

FUCK US!!!! FUCK . . . .

WhooOOOOOOOMMmppp!

I opened my eyes quickly, sure that we'd evaporated into dust. Sure that I was about to have my first taste of the afterlife . . .

Nope. Not this time.

The force-field theory now the only viable, accepted explanation for what had just taken place . . .

Don’t ever get in the car with a Thai girl behind the wheel.

E-V-E-R .

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                                            I openly welcome and request your comments! 

                   (you can post below or email directly to me at: ronkleinsmith@hotmail.com)