He had only been a mile or so from home when he hit the patch of ice and slammed into the telephone pole. After the initial shock of the impact passed, he did not deliberately attempt to assess his condition. He felt no particular pain, although the windshield was shattered, so he opened the door, got out, and stood by the car for a moment, getting his bearings. He may not have been thinking too clearly, but he decided to walk home, as he knew the way, even in the dark on the little-travelled country road. He felt a bit dazed, but seemed to have no problem walking.   
    Ahead, around the curve, he could see the glow of light from the general store, so he knew right where he was. He had practically grown up in that store, since it was his first regular destination after he got his wheels— his bike wheels. He and his neighborhood buddy, Tom, always made it their first stop when they set out on their adventures. Tom had been a lifelong friend and he missed his company since he died a little over a year ago. Tom’s mom made him feel like one of the family, and Tom’s little sister, Maggie,  had been the first girl he ever kissed. He could still remember the feeling, sitting in the back seat of the family station wagon that Tom borrowed so they could go to the drive-in movie. It was Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, and Maggie was terrified, so he got up his nerve and managed to distract her for a while.
    It did not occur to him to go into the store and ask for help or phone home. Indeed, he felt quite normal and was not cold. Past the store was the little league field where he pitched a one-hitter when he was 14 years old. It could have been a no-hitter if Billy caught that soft fly to center instead of    overrunning it. He did manage to create a reputation as something of a jock when he was in high school, now the elementary school building just beyond the scene of his little league moment of near glory. He’d been enough of a factor in the football team’s regional championships his junior and senior years to attract the attention of Jenny Blake.
    Jenny was the second girl he had kissed— and much more since she had become his wife and given him three children. Just down the block and across the street was the church where they were married. Home was just around the corner. Jenny would be    worried sick about him when she learned of his accident, and he wondered a bit about how to tell her. He himself felt quite calm about the whole thing. These things happen, and one way or another, you get through them and move on.
    He felt in his pocket for his keys, surprised that he had the presence of mind to bring them from the car. He turned in from the sidewalk and mounted the porch steps, stepped to the door, inserted the key, and opened the door, whereupon a white flash blinded him and it seemed that time stopped.
    The EMT that arrived at the scene first turned his flashlight from the destroyed face of the man in the car toward the next member of the emergency team who was just arriving. “I think it’s Bob Smith from up on Elm Street. You can’t tell from looking at him, he’s so beat up, but it’s his car. There’s no vital signs, we’re too late.”

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