by Shawnté Salabert
“It’s a vehicular mêlée; a smashup with a backup!” the voice cackled through the radio on this mind-numbingly hot afternoon. My car was a rotisserie and I could imagine turning on an invisible spit, the lack of air conditioning made painfully obvious with each slooooowly passing mile marker. As the sweat slid down my forehead and pooled under my eyes, I heaved a heavy sigh and shuffled around in the glove compartment — dead flashlight, unused owner’s manual (dried chocolate smudging the cover), overused map of South Carolina (more chocolate smudges), one red sock. Reaching all the way to the back, I finally found it, wedged in beside a smashed box of superhero Band-Aids and The AAA Handbook to Great Camping Spots of the Western Plains. I smiled, knowing that in mere seconds, the glacial pace of the 101 would seem a distant memory, and proceeded to remove my salvation from its case. An instant later, Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” came throbbing through the speakers and I exhaled, feeling the cool power of Thriller flood my boiling veins.
Shawnté Salabert wishes she had a clever book title to insert here, but instead, all she has to show for her wit and talent is a backlog of rock and roll musings mixed with anecdotal ramblings on police officers with suspect salads and Cameroonian polygamist physical trainers. Read all about it here.