What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
“Yup,” I said as I leaned back into my seat and put my feet up on the dashboard. The school year had ended, and as my friends Aaron, Mike, and I pulled away from Southern in the moving truck we had rented, I was looking forward to having an exciting road trip. “This is the life. The open road, the wind blowing through our hair – what could possibly go wrong?”
As soon as the question left my lips, Aaron abruptly yanked the truck off the main road with a sharp twist of the steering wheel and screeched to a halt at the curb.
“Why would you say that?!” he squealed. “You never ask what will go wrong because then everything will go wrong!”
Mike nodded in agreement. “Yeah, bro. You shouldn’t have said that.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, trying to suppress the amusement in my voice. “You guys seriously believe in that stuff?”
“Yes!” they both shouted in unison.
“So you’re saying that if the truck flies off the road, down a cliff, and explodes in a fiery inferno, then that would be my fault?”
“Look,” Aaron said as he pulled back onto the road. “All I know is that when something bad happens, I’m blaming you.”
After a few minutes of debating whether or not the phrase “what could possible go wrong” held supernatural powers, the matter was, for the most part, forgotten. We spent the rest of the evening stocking up on deliciously deleterious snacks and teasing Mike about his unhealthy obsession with Golden Oreos.
After spending the night at Aaron’s aunt’s house, we were back on the road again, blasting music on the stereo and singing as if no one could hear us. Whenever there was a lapse in music, we talked about how much we were going to miss Southern and joked about the crazy adventures we had had.
Eventually, we ran out of gas and had to stop to fill up. As we pulled into the gas station, our cheerful chatter was suddenly replaced by the deafening roar of metal violently grinding against metal. Aaron quickly stepped on the brakes, and we all hopped out of the truck to see what damage had been done.
The moment Aaron saw the large chunk of metal that had been ripped from the truck, he smirked in my direction. “So I guess we know who we can blame for this.”
“Really?” I laughed. “You’re the one who turned too early and rammed against this –” I pointed at the looped steel barrier that protected the gas pump and tried to figure out what it was called “this… gas… thingy.”
“Uh-huh,” Aaron chuckled. “I hope you know you’re paying for gas.”
For the next few hours, I was continually blamed for every little thing that went “wrong.”
When we stopped at an unexpected toll booth…
“Six dollars?! Myron, why did you have to say those words?”
When we spotted the Weinermobile…
“Mike! Wake up! You’ll never guess what you just missed – but I bet you can guess whose fault it was.”
When we passed a larger truck…
“Can we all agree that if that thing turns and hits us it would be Myron’s fault?”
Though they were harmless, I was glad when the quips died down, and as we got closer and closer to our final destination, I became increasing thankful that nothing bad had actually happened.
But, of course, we weren’t home just yet.
“Thirty more minutes and we’ll be home, guys,” Aaron informed us as we drove down the Grand Central Parkway. It was three o’clock in the morning, and from the sound of his voice, I could tell that he already had his mind on sleep.
“Good,” I yawned as I shifted around restlessly. I was sitting on the middle seat we had made from pillows and bags to fit three people into a truck that only seated two. “This ‘seat’ is really starting to hurt.”
Without warning, Aaron jerked the truck to left, sending Mike tumbling into me.
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“That bridge we just passed was too low for the truck at the side so I had to get to the middle,” Aaron responded.
“Wow.” Mike’s eyes widened. “Praise God. If we had run into that it would have taken off the roof.”
Aaron smiled devilishly. “And then you know who we would have blamed for that?”
I put my hand to my face and sighed. “Are we really still doing this? You know –”
My retort was cut short by flashing red and blue lights in the rear view mirror.
“License and registration.” the cop demanded coldly after we had pulled over.
Aaron quietly handed him the documents.
The cop looked at the papers and then back at us. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Because of what happened over by the bridge?” Aaron guessed.
“Exactly.” The officer suddenly became enraged. “Do you know how many people you could have hurt?! You can’t drive so recklessly – you’re not even supposed to be driving a truck on the parkway! Did you know that?”
“No I –”
“And look at this guy,” the uniformed man nodded in my direction. “He’s not sitting on a real seat, so I’m guessing he’s not wearing a seatbelt!”
I darted my eyes around nervously, unsure of whether or not it was appropriate to make eye contact.
The cop rubbed his temples and sighed. “I’ll be back.”
The truck was filled with an uncomfortable silence.
“This is your fault,” Aaron said accusingly. I could tell he was no longer joking.
“You can’t blame me for this!” I whispered, afraid that the cop – who was most definitely out of ear shot – would hear me. “We would have driven on the parkway regardless of what I said!”
“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have gotten pulled over.”
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, fine. This is my fault. Might as well blame me for the recession while you’re at it.”
After the cop left, we found out all the things that could possibly go wrong. No longer able to drive on the parkway, we were left to navigate through the streets of New York. When we realized that the GPS was only trying to take us back to the parkway, we turned it off and tried to find our own way. We wandered around hopelessly for an hour, accidently running two red lights and getting flashed by the built-in cameras in the process.
Depression struck when the sun began to rise. We were lost, tired, and extremely annoyed. Instead of giving in to the agony, however, we found ourselves rejuvenated by our jokes and conversation. We imitated the grumpy police officer and relished our new, and rather confusing, surroundings. Despite the misfortune that befell us so close to home, we found that we could rely upon each other.
When we finally arrived home, I looked at my two friends and decided to say a few words. “Gentlemen. This road trip truly has been an adventure. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, Mike found true love in Golden Oreos,” Mike rolled his eyes “and I think I can say in all honesty that we really learned the true meaning of friendship.”