One-eighty on the 401.Rear tire let go.White flash.Powder in my mouth.*tape rewind*Different night.Grey TX. 500h.F-Sport. Three rows, school-run trim.Ontario plates front and back. Not mine.Back-right glass already gone.Nothing stopped me all year.I called that green.Never found out which one put them on me.Could've been the glass. Could've been the plates.Probably one-forty like the car was mine.Off-ramp stacked—then blue. (WHOOP)One SQ Charger nose-on.Two more filling both mirrors. (WHOOP WHOOP)Foot down.Three deep.Dash red.Back-right glass gone—sirens aren't outside, (WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP)they're in here with me.Wrong side.Wrong lane.Crossing up ahead.Red-red-red over the tracks.Wheel chatters.Jaw locks.My foot won't lift. (WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP)Man in the other lane doing twenty.Headed home.Normal night.Normal speed.I pass him on his side.He looks up.I see his face.His face is the only thing that stays.Sirens pile on sirens till the sound lose edges,Saint-Lazare sign, black road, no lamps, (WHOOP WHOOP)Charger eyes small in the glass—small—gone.Then nothing.Then nothing.Engine.Breath.Hands buzzing on the wheel.One laugh leaks out.Wrong sound.Wrong time.Highest adrenaline I ever got in my life.Like I'd done something.No sirens. (WHOOP WHOOP)No lights. (WHOOP)No one behind.Just road.Just breath.Just tank.And the tank.And the tank.And the orange light.GREEN—GONobody stopped me,so I called that green.YELLOW—SLOWCrossing all redand my foot won't lift. (WHOOP)BLUE—MOVESirens through the holein the back. (WHOOP WHOOP)WHITE—Slow car ahead.I thought it meantI won.Parked it by gates in the drive.Engine off.Walked to the main.Bought a red canfrom a man who never looked up.Ninety-one.Premium.For a carI'd leave in a ditch.Five litres in my hand.No flags.No marshals.Nobody waving nothing.Just the slosh in the canand my shoes on the road.GREEN—GONobody saw me shake,so I called it clean.YELLOW—SLOWHis face in the glassand I still held the wheel. (WHOOP)BLUE—MOVESomething fastercoming through. (WHOOP WHOOP)WHITE—Slow car ahead.Still thought it meantI won.Told it Tuesday:three cars, one crossing, clean.By Friday:buck-sixty through the turn.Third telling:saw them early.Fifth:planned the whole thing.Tenth:no gas station.No shaking.No stranger.Version one had five litres in it.Version tenends at the exit.Blue flag doesn't mean winning.It means move.Somebody fasteris coming through.The road never knew my name.The tire never tested my skill.The airbag did its job.The tank did its job.I did what I always do:made lucksound like will.Different night.Same roll.Rear tire lets goon the 401.Lane lines sideways.Back end walking.White.Powder in my teeth.Glass in my hair.Somebody:"We alive?"I count.Then that laugh.Same laugh.Same exact laughas Saint Laz.Red flag.One ended in powder.One ended on foot.Same dice.GREEN—GOLuck let me through,I called it skill.YELLOW—SLOWSaw his faceand kept the story. (WHOOP)BLUE—MOVESomebody fastercoming through. (WHOOP WHOOP)BLACK—OUTCome in now.You're done. (WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP)WHITE—Slow car ahead.I thought it meantI won.Red can on the passenger seatthe whole way back.Ninety-one in it.Premium.Little orange lightwas a flag too.I drove it dry instead.There's no chequered flagon the 401.That's the part nobody says.There's no finish.There's justthe next one.
