Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

‘ Who’ d have thought traffic could be so pretty?’ I said.

‘ Well, if you find this traffic pretty,’ Dickie remarked, ‘ wait until rush hour hits. It’ s a freakin’ work of art.’

Deedee pressed her face against the window. ‘ This is so awesome. Nobody’ s gonna believe me when I tell them.’

Troy did the first few traffic reports, and as he’ d warned me, the radio feed shut off in my headphones. I could hear Troy’ s voice, but Fat Boy’ s responses were dead air. Troy put on his ‘ radio guy’ voice-huskier and more enthusiastic than how he usually sounded. So far, traffic was moving smoothly, and it sounded odd to hear only one side of their banter. At one point, Troy said, ‘ I don’ t know, Fat Boy, it’ s been a while since I’ ve looked that closely at a monkey,’ leaving me to wonder what could have prompted that sort of response.

We buzzed past the Hollywood sign as the sky changed from gray to orange. The letters looked every bit their forty-feet height from this vantage point. ‘ Thought this might be a nice view for the sunrise,’ Troy said to me, the only acknowledgment he’ d made of the list.

Then the helicopter veered left, and Troy said, ‘ I’ m heading to check on the 101-I’ m getting word of a crash there. June, I’ ll probably bring you in on the next go-round.’

‘ Sounds good!’ I chirped.

Barf.

I tried to quell my nerves, restricting myself to happy, ridesharing thoughts. Plug the 800 number& plug the 800 number&

Whatever you do, don’ t swear& and definitely don’ t say fuck. Fuck, now I have it in my head& it’ s like that Black Eyed Peas song, and I won’ t be able to get it out! Oh, shit& I mean, fuck& Oh no, I’ ll be spewing cusswords as if I have Tourette’ s and-

‘ All right, we’ re good to go,’ Troy said. ‘ I’ ll start with the traffic news. From there, June, I’ ll intro you and then toss you a question or two.’

‘ Make them easy,’ I said queasily.

He turned his head briefly. ‘ Nothing but softballs, baby.’ Looking back at his control panel, he said, ‘ Now, it’ ll be the same as before. You’ ll hear my voice in your headset. You’ ll hear yourself, too. And I’ ll be able to hear Fat Boy, but you won’ t. Don’ t worry-he knows to only let me cue you. Got it?’

‘ Got it.’

The radio sounds disappeared, and I again heard Troy’ s voice describing a traffic tie-up on the 101, the 405 at the Sepulveda Pass, and the sluggish 90 past Riverside. Then he continued, ‘ If you’ re getting tired of traffic, I’ ve got with me here in the K-JAM JetCopter a lady who can tell us about how to avoid the mess& June Parker with Los Angeles Rideshare.’

Here it came. My heart thumped. My stomach growled from nerves so loudly that I was afraid it could be heard over the helicopter blades.

He continued, ‘ So, June, what would you say to somebody who’ s sitting alone in their car right now, wishing they were anywhere but on the freeway?’

‘ Well, Troy,’ I said, and as soon as I said it, Dickie whipped around to face me, his expression a complete panic.

‘ We’ ve got dead air!’ he hissed. ‘ I can’ t hear you!’

Not knowing what to do, I continued, ‘ I’ d tell them-’

But Troy’ s voice cut me off. ‘ I mean, besides get out and walk. Heh, heh. Right, Fat Boy?’

‘ What the f-’ Deedee began, but stopped short. I could hear her voice in my headset. She figured it out at the same time the rest of us did. Her mike was on, and mine wasn’ t.

Dickie picked up the wires leading from the controls to us. We must have switched the headsets when we took them off to eat the doughnuts. I froze with panic: What should I do? Troy put a finger in the air to say, Wait& and then he said, ‘ That’ s a good point you’ re making there, Fat Boy.’

With that, Deedee sat up straight and bleated into her microphone, ‘ June here! You know what, Troy? I always say that traffic is a lot like the weather. Everybody talks about it, but nobody does anything.’

Troy didn’ t miss a beat. ‘ So true. And what should they do?’

‘ For starters,’ she said, her eyes wide with excitement as she continued, ‘ they should carpool. I mean, if they’ re lucky enough to have a car. Especially since gas is, like, a million dollars a gallon.’

‘ Remind me not to go to the same gas station you do,’ Troy joked. I was a wreck, but he seemed to be taking it in stride. Dickie reached back and gave Deedee’ s arm an encouraging squeeze.

‘ Bus,’ I mouthed to her.

‘ And if they don’ t got a car,’ she continued, ‘ then they can take the bus. Shoot, my mom is blind, so she’ s gotta ride the bus everywhere, and she does fine.’

‘ Good for her,’ Troy said.

I’ d reached into my purse and grabbed a pen, and I quickly wrote the company’ s 800 number on the back of the doughnut bag and held it in front of Deedee.

‘ Yeah, so I don’ t want to hear nobody complaining that they can’ t do it. If she can ride the bus and she can’ t even see, then somebody who’ s got everything going on ought to be able to do it, too.’

‘ I can’ t tell you how glad I am that you came to share that with us today, June,’ Troy said. He could hardly hold back his grin. He was enjoying this!

‘ You’ re welcome,’ Deedee said proudly. ‘ Oh, and if they got any questions, they need to call 1-800-RIDESHARE. Which is more than seven numbers, but I guess it works okay anyway.’

Troy wound up the report, thanked the sponsors, and then the radio came back in my headset again.

‘ Deedee, that was great!’ Troy exclaimed. ‘ You’ re a natural.’

Dickie slapped her leg in congratulation.

I tried to sound enthusiastic when I said, ‘ You did better than I would have.’

‘ Can I do another one?’ she asked eagerly.

Dickie shook his head. ‘ Let’ s not press our luck.’

‘ Shoot. I wanted to give a shout-out to my girlfriend Rebecca.’

To round out the tour, Troy whipped along the beach, deserted save for a few surfers at this early hour, and over the giant Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica pier.

After we landed and climbed out of the helicopter, it was all I could do not to kneel and kiss the ground. Good old terra firma! Fun as it had started out, I’ d never been so glad to have something over with. The people of Los Angeles now thought my mother was blind and that I’ d use double negatives, but that wasn’ t even the problem.

I’ d blown it. Again.

In the moment that we realized my microphone wasn’ t working, it was Deedee who’ d stepped up with a plan. Left to me, it would have been the longest silence in radio history. Only after the fact did I realize I could have simply leaned over and talked into her microphone until we had a second to switch headsets.

I moped and tried to appear as if I weren’ t, as the others seemed amped from the ride.

‘ Besides being on the radio, the best part was seeing that car accident,’ Deedee chattered on. ‘ They looked like toy cars. And that one was totally upside down. It was so awesome.’

‘ You know what’ s interesting,’ Dickie told her, ‘ is that most traffic reporters don’ t use the term accident. You’ ll notice they call it a ‘ crash’ or a ‘ smash-up.’ Saying ‘ accident’ makes it sound as if it can’ t be helped.’

‘ I never thought of it that way,’ Deedee remarked.

As he spoke, I’ d exhaled a breath but seemed to have forgotten how to draw it back in. Then everything started to collide inside me. The taco soup& my talk with Deedee the night before& seeing Troy Jones and not having enough sleep and eating only sugar for breakfast and blowing the interview and Deedee was pregnant and why didn’ t I just talk into her microphone and all that coffee and there’ s no such thing as an accident because they’ re crashes and smash-ups but not accidents because somebody must be at fault and the worst, worst, worst part of all& Troy’ s glance sliding over to me because he’ d heard what Dickie said, too. And in his eyes I saw the one thing I couldn’ t take-the thing that was as good as pouring lighter fluid on the smoldering fire of my emotions. I saw pity.