Sprezzatura

photo by Artem Firsov

The closest I’ve ever come
 to death and known it

I’d just eaten a sweet red sauce
            over fusilli two tables away

from a woman I swear was
            Ann Richards in the middle

of nowhere Arkansas at a BYOW
            place tucked back into the hills.

It had been a fantastic day
            on the lake with beautiful people

I barely knew, and the drive home
            after dinner was just as casual

as everything else had been
            that day, until my car shifted

hard right when it touched
            the metal grates on a bridge

over the river. Without any guardrails
            to hold it back, the car rolled

off the edge and flipped into the cold
            water before anyone could

utter a single curse. I’d let the windows
            down earlier to enjoy the night,

so water filled the car as soon
            as its roof hit the river.

Funny how hanging upside down
            underwater would be so

disorienting, but all I could think to do
            was check the clock—11:17—

and make sure my headlights
            were still on. I knew

I had to unlatch the seatbelt,
            but just couldn’t find the button.

Something in my brain kept insisting
            things were on opposite sides

because I was turned over,
            so it took a while before my

fingers found the belt latch.
            Even then it wouldn’t release

with all my weight hanging on it,
            and my chest had just about

reached the point where sucking in water
            would’ve been easier than

holding what little breath I had left.
            I remember not being all that

angry, and actually still thinking
            decisions were mine to be made,

when a surge of water came through
            and lifted me just enough

for the seatbelt latch to give.
            The river pushed me through

my driver’s side window, and I broke
            the surface without having

to kick much at all. My first thought
            after climbing up onto the bank

was for the car, its battery dying quickly
            and the river leaving fish in its wheel wells.