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I have suddenly lost my nerve. I used to be one of the fearless ones. Never thought I was immortal, nothing like that. But I wasn’t afraid. I trust in physics and mechanics. Once I did like one hundred in the pouring rain. Didn’t even think twice. Just me and my car and we were flying. I passed everyone crawling along, safe in the slow lane.

Even after my accident, it was raining that night, I now recall, I didn’t lose my nerve. Oh sure, for a while I slowed down a little bit. Who wouldn’t? I went back and double-checked. Had things been a little different, probably I would have gone over the edge. Never could figure out how far I would have dropped. That was when I decided it wasn’t my destiny to die in a car. Seems like dying early can be the easy way out for some. I don’t think I’ll ever have things easy.

I like to drive fast. I like being in my car. I don’t mind gridlock so much, though I prefer to speed because then I can also listen to the stereo really loud. I don’t so much like to listen to loud music when I’m sitting still. Sitting still is for NPR. I’m not actually a big fan of NPR, but they do help to keep me informed. That’s always useful.

I think the first to go was my grip. When you drive a lot, you have strong hands. And calluses. You don’t even know it — though I suppose some people do because they wear driving gloves — but your hands develop mechanisms to help cope with holding the steering wheel. You really need to make sure you’re in tune with your steering. Every car is different. Brakes, too. You need to know how your brakes respond. I need good brakes. I race up to each and every red light. It could turn green at any moment, and I like a fast takeoff. My mom thinks someday that’s going to be my downfall: cross traffic can be just as dangerous as drunk drivers.

My hands aren’t so steady on the wheel anymore. That’s not say I have some problem where I shake or need medication. It’s just that my palms have grown soft, my muscles weak. I can’t drive for hours like I used to. Now I do a lot of finger flexing and stretches that look like I’m practicing my jazz hands. It never struck me before that my grip would need to take frequent naps.

I know how to brake coming into curves, accelerate coming out. Smooth, it’s all about smooth. I thought I could be a race car driver, but that was before they let women in. Now if I were younger and I had my nerve, maybe I’d give it a try. Though I think the space they have for the actual person seems a bit small. Claustrophobic. Not me, I mean, I don’t think I’m claustrophobic. The space is small, especially when you think bulky suit and helmet. Like the driver is an afterthought. Must leave lots of room for the engine, you know.

Last night, we were in the car. I wasn’t driving — I’d been out in the rain all day, and I thought I’d like to ride for a little while. It wasn’t really that wet, you know, but the roads were slick. Not as slick as after the first couple of rains of the year — it’s a problem living in a place where it doesn’t rain that much. Oil builds up on the road, and when it’s wet, you slide all over the place. Always unexpectedly. Like you’re timing the brakes just right, coming to a smooth stop without a problem, and then out of nowhere, you start fishtailing. Usually happens in front of someone. Like a cop. I tend to get nervous when I see and black-and-white. For no good reason, except for the speeding thing.

Anyway, we were driving, and he made a left. This wasn’t a sharp turn or anything. A lazy left. But the road was blocked in places due to construction, and I didn’t feel safe. It was a good turn, I can see that now, but then I felt like were going in too fast, tires sliding instead of gripping the road — maybe I should check my treads, that might help. All my vital functions shut down for maybe two, three seconds. Is that how people die from shock? Do people die from shock?

Before that turn wouldn’t have bothered me. Like I said, it wasn’t a challenge even if the roads were wet. But now I don’t have any guts. The last time I slid after braking, I sat at that red light, shaking in a way I’ve never shook before. I was scared. I wanted to go home. I would have pulled over and tried to slow down my pulse rate, but it’s a dicey neighborhood. The first safe place to pull to the side is in front of a head shop. Even at ten in the morning, that seems like a precarious thing to do. There was a murder just down the block a month ago — the candles are still there. I wonder who cleans that sort of stuff up.

Driving home, I was going fast. Not too fast. That time of night, there are still lots of cars on the road. A reasonable fast. Keeping pace with the car in front of me, not annoying the car behind me. I like it when you’re in rhythm with the other drivers. It’s like we’re in an elaborate dance. Cars slide in and out of lanes, every movement choreographed, every vehicle positioned just so. There’s a sense of danger, but no chance of collision. We have practiced these moves until they’re automatic.

We, my fellow drivers and me, came to a big curve. It’s an old road, so things are not properly banked. Pretty much you hit the flat of the curve and the highway doesn’t do a thing to help you. You can see old and new bumpers stuck in the railings like modern sculpture. The shoulder is covered with the yellow glow of shattered reflectors. Some of the wood is split, jagged in places, you don’t want to hit that head-on. The metal supports dividing northbound and southbound are buckled from impact. If you look to the right, you see car-sized bubbles where the chain link fence caught somebody before they fell into what would be a river any place else.

So I braked. I braked. And jerked my wheel. And broke the rhythm. And my heart was hurting my chest. And I knew I should have just quit then. I lost my nerve.