The Opposite of Falling Apart

CHAPTER 3 - JONAS

"Oh," stammered the girl. "It's fine. You know, accidents happen. I just need your insurance information I think? And your name, probably."

It struck Jonas that she wanted to be anywhere but here, talking to him. She looked like, if she could, she would have just driven off. She was staring forward as if it might kill her if her gaze deviated from the windshield. When she did look at him, it was at a point slightly to the right of his head, off in the distance.

"Of course," said Jonas, keeping his lips fixed in the contrived smile, although he was now sure that his eyes weren't cooperating with his mouth. He wondered how he wasn't better at fake smiling by now. Rhys always said he frowned too much, even before The Accident. Afterward, Jonas wasn't sure when the last time he'd really smiled had been. He glanced at the traffic that seemed to be backing up as more and more people slowed down to see what was going on or to let the cars stuck behind the accident into the open lane.

Jonas shifted his weight on the hand propped against the car— the metal was hot under the sun. Uncomfortable. He turned back to the girl in the car. She was still refusing to look directly at him. "I think that both vehicles look moveable," he said calmly, hiding his discomfort behind a veneer of pretend confidence. "I think if we pull into the parking lot over there"—he gestured to the mostly empty parking lot of a nearby Walgreens—"we should be able to inspect the damage a bit better, and I'll give you my information. This really is my fault, and I apologize."

The girl had been staring at Jonas until he made eye contact to apologize, at which point she blushed even redder and looked away once more. "You're not supposed to admit fault in an accident," she mumbled under her breath, almost so Jonas couldn't hear her. "I think it can be used against you or something." Her voice trailed off.

Jonas frowned. "What?" he asked. What was wrong with this girl? Logic would say she'd be glad to have him admit to being at fault.

"Nothing," she mumbled even more quietly.

"All right," he said. "You go ahead, and I'll follow you."

She nodded, then turned her hazards off and shut her window. Jonas turned away, allowing his shoulders to slump and the fake smile to disappear. The few steps back to the Bus seemed like a mile. All he wanted to do was sit down and remove the stupid prosthetic leg. The remaining part of his leg was clearly not used to having to bear weight, and every step was painful. He was also regretting not taking the extra time to find the newer liner, as the inside of the ill-suctioned plastic socket was starting to slicken with sweat. Jonas took a deep breath and a quick step forward, just enough to get his hands back against the Bus, back against support. He made it back to the still-open passenger-side door and slid across to the driver's side.

He broke things into steps:

1. Start the car.

2. Keep his left foot as far from the brake pedal as possible.

3. Put the car in drive.

4. Go into the parking lot.

He turned in and stopped behind the girl—perpendicular to her so he could see the back of her car. She had gotten out of her vehicle and was inspecting the damage.

It didn't actually look that bad, Jonas realized with relief. Maybe the cost to his parents wouldn't be too much. He was still on their insurance. He'd have to pay them back of course—but how would he earn the money? Jonas tried not to think about how the monthly insurance bill would increase after an accident. He shook his head. I'll worry about that later, he thought.

He got out of the Bus once more, relieved not to have to slide over to the passenger side again. He leaned his back against the side of the van, alternating between putting his hands in his pockets and crossing his arms. He settled on hands by his sides and tried to stand as straight as possible while still leaning against the side of the vehicle.