Kelly was back in town and just as beautiful to Rock as she had looked in a recent Facebook photograph (she was much prettier than Rock remembered from more than fifteen years earlier when they dated, though he thought she was lovely from the start). A large group of Kelly's friends had come to meet her and Rock, and they gathered in a parking lot connected to a levy.
Rock only recognized two of the roughly ten people who had come. One was another former girlfriend and the other a forty-year-old man Rock had worked with at the paper named Nick Walker.
Somehow the crowd managed to cram into Kelly's sleek Volvo station wagon.
Even before they drove away, it was clear to Rock that his two ex-girlfriends were vying for his attention and thoughts, a recognition that clearly pleased him.
Kelly took an off ramp to descend to a road that ran along the base of the levy, and the car quickly accelerated. Rock was not particularly alarmed until he realized the car had nearly approached its top speed, a hundred miles an hour at least. Kelly drove directly up the side of the levy, and the car was suddenly airborne. It went straight up, maybe a hundred feet, and Rock and everyone else were in a state of pure panic. The car then dropped straight back down until its trunk stuck into the levy like an axe swung into a log.
Rock did not feel at all injured. Everyone else also seemed fine. He stepped from the car and began to walk back toward where they had started, about a half mile away.
"Rock, where are you going?" Nick said.
"Fuck it," Rock said. "I'm not getting back in that car. I'm going home."
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