“Wow,” Craig said, still slumped in the seat he’d staggered over to after regaining his senses. “That’s definitely going to be in my memoir.”
“Your what?” Winston said. He was standing next to Craig with his arms crossed. Every few seconds he’d check his wristwatch. They were running very short on time, and Cecilia was a bit particular about punctuality.
“My memoir,” Craig repeated. “That was some majorly memoir-worthy shit.”
“Are you in shock?” asked Winston. “Did you actually get clipped when it passed, or something?”
“No, I mean—” Craig gesticulated with feeling, his eyes widening in a way that made Winston suspect that he was supposed to be empathizing with something. He hated it when Craig did that.
When it became clear that Winston wasn’t going to finish his thought for him, Craig rested his hands on his knees and heaved a sigh.
“Winston, I could have been killed just now.”
It took every ounce of his self-control for Winston to resist pointing out that, based on the car’s velocity and position relative to Craig at the time of passing, his unfortunate companion would have suffered a few bruised ribs, if that, had there been contact.
“And—” Craig looked ahead, his gaze unfocused and blazing, “—and, I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at the world the same way again.”
“Could you at least,” Winston suggested, checking his watch yet again, “remain aware of your sister’s intense desire to have us both arrive on time to this lunch?”
“It’s just a lunch, Winston, Cecilia can wait,” Craig said dismissively. “I’ve just missed a date with death, here! This could the first chapter to my memoir—the point where my whole point of view changed.”
“That’s the first part of your life’s story?” Winston asked, unable to stop himself. “What’s chapter five, ‘Realizing the Cereal Goes in Before the Milk’?”
“Knock it all you like,” Craig said, finally rising from his position. “But I’m a changed man.”
“Listen, maybe you should try getting actually hit by a car next time,” Winston grumbled, grabbing the other man’s arm and starting to drag him in their original direction. They were going to be very late indeed. “Then maybe this so-called memoir will be worth reading.”
“What?” Craig asked, looking appalled.
“Take it from me,” Winston continued, not really paying attention to what he was saying as he searched for Newbury Street. “The bestsellers don’t fuck around with wannabe near-death experiences—they either literally kill the main character or make him wish he were dead. So if you’d gotten legitimately maimed by a speeding car, then maybe you’d have a case.”
“It’s what I do afterwards though!” Craig protested. “Who cares what the catalyst is?”
“Apparently, you,” Winston pointed out. “You could have had an epiphany stirring the sugar into your coffee this morning. But no, it had to be during a routine confrontation with another person in this city who doesn’t know how to drive.”
Craig remained silent until they finally reached their destination, an upscale French restaurant of Cecilia’s choosing. Winston could see the outlines of Cecilia and her parents through the window.
“Well,” he said, just as Winston was about to open the door. “I guess that settles it, then.”
“That settles what?” Winston asked, exasperated.
Craig shook his hand, and said matter-of-factly, “I’m going to go get hit by a car now.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Craig turned away and started towards the edge of the sidewalk. The traffic started rushing forward as the light turned green.
Winston’s watch beeped. He met Cecilia’s angry eyes through the frosted glass of the restaurant’s large window before turning to the street as if in slow motion, just in time to see Craig launch himself in front of a large Lamborghini.
Technically, Winston reminded himself, they’d been on time for the date.