Errata Literary Magazine

by Sylvia Honig

ar horns are blowing, police sirens are ringing, rescue squads are on the bridge. That's the Ben Franklin Bridge. I'm just starting up the ramp. In front of me is this white Honda, going backward and forward. It's banging into a pickup truck in front. I'm keeping my distance before it hits me. I'm a doctor on the way to do hospital calls. It's possible that the driver might be sick.

Traffic is backed up anyway, so I jump out and run over and open the door. Just as I thought, the driver is having a Grand Mal seizure! Her foot is still on the gas pedal and she's banging her car into the truck in front repeatedly. The inside of the car is a mess-- blood, mucus, vomit, urine. Her head hits the dashboard and her blonde wig falls off. What the hell? This person is now a bald headed Asian guy in a dress. His seizure is subsiding. I reach toward him to take his pulse. He pulls his arm away from me, opens the other door and starts running toward the guard rail. His dress is in shreds and he has some kind of straps around his behind. What the hell do they call it?

The commotion has created different reactions among the drivers. Some are getting out of their cars, screaming "terrorist attack!" The driver whose truck was banged up is in a daze, looking at the dents.

The police and rescue van pick up the guy in the dress. He had one foot over the guard rail, ready to run...where?

A cop walks over to me as I get into my car.

''Hey, who are you?''