Michael's Stories: Episode 2: Asleep at the Wheel.

Michael's stories are absolutely true stories as told by my friend "Michael" and transcribed by me, with permission. All names have been changed.

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Michael is currently dating a girl I will call Brooky - not officially - because that's not what he wants at this point in life, but they do hang out all the time. A few days ago, she invited him to drive with her to Pennsylvania to visit her family for Christmas.

He precludes the story by explaining that Brooky is competitively stubborn. She graduated from college in three years because one of her siblings said it was impossible.

Befre they begin the thirteen-hour drive to Pennsylvania, he says, "I'll drive. You haven't slept in two days."

Somehow, that sounded like a challenge. "How about this," she replies, "I'll sleep for an hour and then drive the rest of the way."

After seemingly putting his foot down, he picks it right back up. He either doesn't want to argue with her - familiar with her competitive nature - or he is curious to see how it will play out.

"Alright. Whatever you want," he says.

Brooky sleeps for six hours. He tells me that she was fast asleep and didn't budge at all. When she wakes, she tells Michael to let her drive.

He reminds me that six hours is nothing when you haven't slept for two days. I agree.

She drives for a little and then tells him to lean his chair back and take a nap. He isn't tired, but reclines the chair anyway. He turns on his side, facing Brooky, and squints his eyes. He watches her blink and then blink again, slower the second time.

"Brooky, are you still tired?"

"No, I'm not tired at all. I'm wide awake. Go back to sleep."

"If you're tired, I can drive for you," he offers.

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it. Just get some rest."

He pretends to close his eyes again. She opens her eyes really wide and holds it for a few seconds as if to stretch them so wide that they will never close again. Then she blinks and blinks again, much slower.

"Brooky! I'm serious. Do you want some coffee? I'll buy you some coffee. If you really want to drive, just pull over at the next exit and I'll get you some."

"I don't need any coffee. I'm fine. Go back to sleep." she says.

Yea, right. Michael adjusts his chair into the upright position. He was wide awake, he tells me.

They were on a four lane road driving in the right-most lane behind a slower pick-up truck and Brooky slides over to the left lane to pass it. She speeds up a bit and when far enough ahead of the truck, she slowly starts drifting back into the right lane.

Really, though, she slowly starts drifting off the road.

The car keeps going to the right. The tires cross over the white line, clunk off the edge of the raised asphalt, and rumble into the riveted, alarm-clock segment of the road; the rough, graduated lines that sound like a drill-bit. Michael looks over at Brooky. She's knocked out cold, her head bent over on her shoulder.

"Brooky! WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!" He slaps her shoulder. "What THE FUCK are you doing?!? PULL OVER."

Her head jerks up. She grabs the wheel and steadies the car in the right lane. Then she pulls over to the shoulder, gets out of the car, and sheepishly walks over to the passenger seat.

"Sorry..." she says.

She slept soundlessly in the passenger seat the rest of the way there.