Dazed and withdrawing into shock, you crawl from the burning wreckage that was your cab and realize that your body is engulfed in flames.
You begin to scream and run away from the flaming pit of the cab.
Your mind races through the thousands of cliches from your childhood: Don’t sit too close to the TV or you’ll go blind, Don’t flip your eyelids back like that or you’ll go blind, Don’t touch yourself there or you’ll go blind. … Damn, nothing about what to do if you’re on fire!
Suddenly the voice of your third grade teacher, Mr. Morris, rings in your head, “If you’re on fire, act like a mole. Find some dirt and stop, drop and roll.”
You picture a mole and realize you’ve never seen one dropping or rolling, but then you figure that wasn’t the point of the rhyme.
You stop running in circles, drop onto the gravelly asphalt and roll until you hit a curb.
Shakily, you get to your feet. The hair on your head is fried and your face lacks eyebrows, but you’re ok. Thank heavens for that flame-retardant undersuit you were wearing “just in case.”
“Is Baja worth all of this?” you scream, fist raised to the star-peppered sky.
“As God is my witness,” you begin with tears in your eyes, “as God is my witness they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to get through this.
A crowd begins to gather and they stare at your singed and torn body. A curiously supportive vibe ripples through the huddle as you continue.
“If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill, as God is my witness, I’m going to Mazatlan next year.”
The crowd moves in for a group hug and someone begins to sing “We Are the World.” The crowd catches the tune and joins the chorus. The stars twinkle in the sky and you know that all is, once again, right in the world.
THE END