"Tammy," Linda June typed with flying digits. "I'm running late! Can you tell Throckmorton that I'm picking up Dunkin for the office?"
The new BMW X3 sport utility veered right toward the on ramp guardrail. A deft flick of a long fingered, well manicured hand, quickly corrected the vehicle's direction. Twelve hundred dollars worth of Michelin snow tires whined slightly from the strain of the rapid whip to the left.
Linda June wasn't an executive, but her husband was. As CEO of a locally based international insurance company, he wanted Linda June to have nothing but the best. He couldn't understand her desire to keep her receptionist job at the aluminum tubing factory. At forty three, Linda June could be spending her days lunching with the Garden Club ladies who comprised their social circle. Instead, she preferred to spend her days with the blue collars at Alum-a flex, Inc., answering phones and keeping the coffee fresh for her bosses.
The cigarette in her left hand made it a little difficult to hang onto her iPhone 5 but she managed. She needed her right hand to guide the forty-two hundred pound missile up the I-88 exit 4, on ramp.
Loud chiming told Linda June that Tammy was responding. Not wanting to miss Tammy's acknowledgement of her tardiness notification, Linda June focused on the iPhone. For a moment she wished her arms were a bit longer, but by squinting she could make out the fuzzy "K" of Tammy's response. She smiled to herself, knowing that oversleeping fifteen minutes wouldn't kill anyone.
Now, almost at the end of the on ramp, Linda June focused on her iPhone and began typing with both thumbs.
In Alum-a-Flex's break room. Tammy Lewis was grinding fresh Kona beans. The bosses loved the premium coffee she brewed, when they arrived at 9:00 AM. She thought it strange that Linda June hadn't responded to her "K". Tammy had to smile thinking how her friend always had to have the final word, talking or texting.
Eighteen year truck driving veteran Ralph Morrison, was close to the end of his daily Schenectady to Binghamton run. His dispatcher friend Rick, had given him a great load. He'd left the terminal in total darkness, at 5:30 AM, and he was only 15 minutes from backing up to the loading dock at Conklin Industrial Park. A real pro, Ralph was still fresh and alert. At forty five, he was at the top of his game.
Ginger Rappaport had left Massachusetts at midnight, on her way to Scranton for a 1:00 PM job interview. She'd be in Scranton in an hour, and had planned for a short nap to refresh, before dressing for the important appointment. Ginny was a little sleepy, and her thoughts were mostly on her 3 and 7 year old boys, home in Natick. This new job would mean uprooting her older son from his elementary school. Ginny's mom would miss having her 3 year old grandson with her every day. Since that bastard David had headed for Florida with his 23 year old bimbo, life had been really tough. Ginny hoped Scranton would be the start of a much better life for her and the boys. She was only 35. She still had her looks, her redhead spunk, and hit the gym for two hours every other day. Most men she met thought she was"hot", but she was not ready to get involved just yet.
Her daydreaming had taken her mind off checking the rear view mirror for the last couple of miles. She hadn't noticed that the 18 wheeler had caught her. Ralph's front bumper was beside her left rear door. Ahead, to her right, a silver SUV was slowly weaving up the entrance ramp.
Just as the eighteen-wheeler drew abreast of Ginny's ten year old Taurus, the silver BMW swerved sharply to the left, directly in front of her.
There was a loud screeching of rubber skidding on concrete, as both Ralph and Ginger slammed on their brakes. The cacophony of screaming tires was instantly followed by the sickening sound of metal crunching and grinding against metal, as the three vehicles collided at once and began careening willy-nilly down the highway.
Ralph whipped his steering wheel to the left. His Peterbilt cab and fifty-five foot trailer, loaded with 30,000 pounds of rolled paper, jack-knifed. Skidding out of control, it slid in a giant "L" shape, off the highway into the grassy median, but remained upright. As it came to rest, Ralph grabbed his fire extinguisher and hit the ground running. The accident scene looked like a war zone.
A black older model Saab had been able to clear the debris, weaving it's way through the wreckage. The driver pulled to the right, as far off the highway as possible, and hit the four ways. He shut the engine off, silencing the Jimmy Buffett CD that was playing at max volume. The commuter dialed 911.
* * * * *
Broome Volunteer EMS, and Colesville Fire Company Ambulances filled both Westbound lanes of the highway. Traffic had been re-routed off 88, at Exit 4 West. A white coated Paramedic bent over a pretty red head lying beside an upside-down '02 Taurus, on a litter. There was s small trickle of blood on her left cheek.
"Your ID says you're name is Ginger. You were knocked out for a few minutes, but you're going to be fine.' the medic said. "Your right leg may be fractured, and you have some minor facial cuts that probably won't leave any scars. I'll just bandage your head and put a collar on you for now. We're going to take you to Wilson Regional Medical Center, in Binghamton. Is there anyone you want us to call?"
"No," She said. "My leg really hurts, and I have a headache. I'll wait until I see how hurt I am, before I call anyone. No need for them to worry."
A silver 2012 BMW X3 was laying on it's driver's side in the driving lane, just past the end of the on ramp. A pale, well manicured hand was sticking out from under the crumpled roof. Glass particles littered the road leading up to the SUV. Steam was coming from under the hood. A young female NY State Trooper stood behind a a solemn faced Paramedic who was slowly rising to her feet. The Paramedic frowned at the officer and shook her head slightly.
"She's still holding a cigarette and her cell phone," the Paramedic pointed toward the hand. "Looks like she was texting."
Trooper Brenda Delgado bent over the exposed hand. The clenched fingers were still holding a broken cigarette and an iPhone. She read the partial message on the iPhone's bright display. Linda June's final texted words were, "Thanks Ta...." A message that would never be received.
Two pink rollbacks bounced across the median. The drivers were grim as they unloaded shovels and brooms to clean up the too familiar mess on the Interstate.
"Probably texting, or something," Richard said.
"Yeah, probably," Ryan replied. "When they gonna learn?"
