Tom’s Big Crash
Tom is a weed who has grown up on the bumper of a car, rooted onto a bit of dirt he found caked in a crevice. He has traveled widely as a stowaway, but recent months have been peaceful.
Tom was familiar with his car’s trips to a terribly busy place which a tree had once told him was called “Seattle.” They’d drive until they reached the wet-salty smell, then bounce along, then drive among uncountable crowds of other cars and trucks. He didn’t like it, but presently they’d be back to wet-salty, then bounce along, and then he’d be safely back home.
Today, they were done bouncing on their way home. The road climbed steeply upward when suddenly his car slowed and stopped. He was pressed flat against the bumper by how quickly they had stopped.
“Whew!” Tom said to himself. And then he stared at the car that had been following right behind them. It wasn’t stopping – it wasn’t even slowing down. It came right at his car, until it was so close he couldn’t see anything else.
CRUNCH.
It smashed right into his car, pushing it to the side even as parts of it crumpled under the force. Now the other car stopped, but Tom was so dazed that he could hardly follow what was happening.
There were people out by his car now, moving about and talking. They were looking at him! No, they were looking at all the crushed parts of his poor car. Presently his car was moving again, and they got home without any more excitement.
Tom spent the rest of the day sharing his adventure with the other weeds around the driveway. One told about once having the car drive right on top of him, smashing him flat–he’d never been the same since. Everybody agreed that Tom was lucky to be alive.
He hoped that was the end of it, but the next day, they went out driving again. It was far, and through Seattle, and then they parked in among lots of other cars. He’d seen this before, but this time was a little different – all the cars had parts scraped, or smashed, or even torn right off. His people got out of his car, and walked off. They didn’t come back. The sunlight fading, he fell asleep among all the hurt cars, with not a single weed for company.
The next day, some people came – but not his people. They pulled and hammered at his car, tearing off this part and that. Some of the parts were right above him, which was scary. Then the men stopped, studying the results of their work. Then one turned to the other.
“Totaled.”
(Tom didn’t know it, but that meant the car was so broken that it wasn’t worth fixing.)
The men went away, leaving the car even more broken than it was before, and here he was, alone again. There were no trees nearby, and the ground was all lifeless pavement. The sun was hot, and he wondered about his friends back home. Night came, and then day, and then night again. He was so lonely!
Day came again, and Tom even let his leaves wilt. He feared that he would just sit here on his poor, damaged car until he faded away and died. There was nothing but broken cars and unbroken pavement, and he stopped paying attention.
Tom will be OK! Read the happy ending to his story in the March issue of the Loop.