Pressing down on the gas, I keep my eyes fixed on the Mitsubishi Mirage in front of me, wondering why anyone would drive the number-one most unsafe car on the road. Sure, it’s cute and pink like an adult version of a Barbie car, but no way would I put my wife or daughter behind the wheel of a go-kart on a highway filled with Hummers and monster-truck-sized SUVs.

Not that I have a wife or daughter, but the point remains the same. The Mirage doesn’t even have the safety features of similarly sized cars in its class.

Unfortunately for me, I’m so distracted by the bright pink monstrosity, my mind running through all the facts and figures about the Mirage, that for the first time in my life, I somehow miss something vital.

I forget the fact that while I might be going a safely legal fifty-five, this is a country highway. A highway with turn-ins.

The dark shape comes out on my right side, and I jam my brakes, but not fast enough. There’s just enough time for my heart to jump into my throat before a sick crunch, and time slows down.

I’ve read about this, but time really does seem to stretch into slow motion. I can see my passenger door start to cave inward and can feel my car start to skew sideways. I tell myself to let off the brake, allowing the tires to connect to the asphalt and letting me yank the steering wheel into my slide, trying to regain control.

I feel my seatbelt lock and start to dig into my collarbone, and an instant later, the world goes white as my airbags deploy. My head bounces off the side curtain bag, and my body is jostled around for a moment before I come to a stop.

The bags soften, and I lean back in my seat, groaning. “Shiiiiit.”

My engine’s still running, by some miracle, and I check that I’m in park before looking around, trying to figure out what happened. We’re at an intersection near a gas station, and I look at the other car, a big black sedan.

How the fuck did I miss that thing?

A woman is sitting behind the wheel, her eyes wide and her mouth a huge ‘O’ of shock. Seeing my car, her hands go over her mouth, and I have the odd thought that her hands look delicate, as though her long fingers would be right at home playing the piano.

Her hands drop to her steering wheel, and I can see her mouthing, “No, no, no, no.”