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Under the Influence

John Frame

    Susan was in an agitated mood on the side of the road at the intersection where the two cars had collided while Jim talked to the policemen who were at the scene. The night was still youngish, with the sunset a blazing orange explosion above the white concrete overpasses of the highway. The street lights caused amber tracers to flash on Jim’s knee-length black leather jacket as if he were a character in an S. E. Hinton novel. He was full rant mode, determined in his explanation for what happened, with arms flailing and hands over-expressing. The beefy, no-necked cops looked thoroughly bored with the display of obstinance, leaning back from him and ready to put the cuffs on and go to central booking before the night got rowdy. Susan, her pregnant, plump belly protruding like a ripe plumb, was shaking and annoyed. This was not the evening that she wanted to have with her new husband, although she was aware that things had been changing since the wedding in terms of nights out and as far as Jim’s attitude to their relationship.
    “He has not been his usual self,” Susan whispered. “Jim has just been acting weird. You know...he is never like this.” Stephen, a work colleague who arrived at the scene to drive Susan back home, looked at her, unsure about his friend’s assessment of her husband. The fact that he was the cause of a car accident with his pregnant wife by his side did not surprise Stephen. However, he was willing to hold off on any judgment until the full story came out.
    “Hey Susan, I am not jumping to any conclusions here. I am sure that this was just an accident and that everything is going to be okay,” Stephen said reassuringly. “These things happen...all the time.” Susan shook her head, sensing that something was off base about the situation. She seemed as if she needed to sit down. They moved to a small wall at the side of the road, bathing in the light of the cop car as it flashed its various blurry colors.
    “Oh no,” Susan moaned, hunched over. “I am not even sure that it was an accident.”
    “Come on, Susan, of course it was. How else can you explain it?” said Stephen. “I mean it was nothing deliberate, right? We have all been in similar situations. I know I have had the odd fender bender now and again over the years.” Stephen was clearly recalling similar incidents that everyone had, most of which were forgotten within a few months. “So what if he had a couple of drinks? How else are people supposed to get home from the bar?”
    “No, you don’t understand.” Susan was waking up to her anger. “I mean, he has driven drunk before. He does it all the time. That is one thing. And Jim is usually fine. But he had a glass of Stoli and tonic in the car, in the cup holder. I mean, what the fuck?! How does that look to a cop?” Susan shook her head, thinking that this was going to be a problem that went way beyond an immediate crisis and into Jim’s teaching career.
    “Okay, you’re right. That does not look great. Hopefully, they will just assume that it’s water. If not, that’s okay. It all depends on the breathalyzer test. And you know that a lawyer can get around that.” Stephen put forward the only words of comfort he could muster. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. How much do you think he had to drink?” he asked.
    “He had a few...I don’t know...five VATs...something like that. I offered to drive, but he insisted, like he always does...the control freak.” Susan paused as if there was something her friend was not asking. “But that is not the worst of all of this.” Susan bent down and lowered her voice to the point where she was barely audible. “Jim had a couple of joints too. He had one before we left the apartment...just to ‘take the edge off the evening,’ he said. And then he was smoking one when we collided with the other car.”
    “So, don’t worry about it. They are just going to breathalyze him and book him. I am sure they won’t draw blood or anything.” Stephen continued to be a calm voice amidst all the bright lights and confusion.
    “No, listen...after he drove into the side of the other car, traumatizing and hurting those people, with all the smoke coming from the engine, I turned to Jim and I was shaking like a leaf...but I looked him in the eye and I asked him “is there anything I should know?” and he asked “what do you mean?” and I said, “is there anything in the car that is going to make this into a bigger problem...is there anything else that we should be worried about?” And, my God, for the first time I saw Jim at his most vulnerable and most sheepish and he leaned over to me, as if entrusting me with the nuclear codes, and he said, “yes, honey, there’s an ounce of weed in the glove box.” And right there I knew that I can’t do this any more. I can’t keep going with the drama...the arguments and the drinking and driving and the constant weed-smoking. Is this a good father-figure?”
    Susan’s words started to sink in as they heard Jim continue to fuss and bluster on the other side of the road, getting louder and more animated as he stood among the broken glass and bits of bumper, with the cops oblivious to his marital predicament and imminent fatherhood. Soon, of course, they would send another police vehicle and the drug squad with the sniffer dog and the car would be searched and that would be the five-minute period in which the lives of Susan and Jim and their future child would be completely overturned.

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