FENDER BENDER

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

It is not so much an account of the accident as a series of observations, strung together in no particular order, peppered with asides. It reveals a raconteur’s rather than an eyewitness’s knowledge of events, and is none the worse for it, since its intent seems to be entertainment rather than explanation. Mr. Adams relates with equal enthusiasm the makes and models of the automobiles involved, the clothing worn by the drivers, the unseasonably warm weather “that would even get a chicken sweating,” a sale at a nearby department store, his daughter’s promotion to a prominent position at a national shoe company, his late wife’s fondness for the word “tranche,” his own musings on whether klezmer or zydeco is a more energetic type of music, the zestful sayings of his buddies (“Vinnie, who was in the service, says ‘Lottie, dottie, everybody’ when he means absolutely everybody”), shards of local trivia and even the superstitions of his youth, such as his aunt’s belief that if a man with glasses entered the room while she was speaking, she had to repeat the last word while looking directly at him. Though several other bystanders are smiling, the patrolman is grim, as the account, while diverting and even charming, is of no use to him his effort to determine which car crashed into which, and why.  Whenever Mr. Adams discloses a relevant detail, such as a recollection of one vehicle speeding or a female voice yelling, he seems eager to hurry away from it and once again indulge in his fondness for filigree.