A Girl Files a Claim
by Ruth Joffre
Claimant: Francesca Quispe¹
Policy Number: 93864713
Vehicle Model: 1993 Honda Civic²
Describe the Incident:
It was the other driver’s fault; I want to emphasize that upfront. All of the witnesses on the scene testified to the fact that he was driving erratically, weaving between lanes, tailgating everyone on the road, even though traffic was light for I-5 on a work day.³ Meanwhile, I did everything right. My hands were at 10 and 2. I checked all my mirrors. I was a model driver.⁴ He sideswiped us. It was 3:42 PM.⁵
List of Damages:⁶
Doors (passenger side): smashed
Side mirror (passenger side): partially detached, hanging by a wire
Air bags (passenger side): malfunctioned—never deployed
Comments (optional):
None⁷ at this time.⁸
¹ This is my government name. You’re never going to know what my friends call me.
² Yes, the Civic is older than I am. No, I’m not embarrassed about it. I’m the seventeen-year-old daughter of a single mother, and this beat-up old car was all we could afford. Also, this car will run forever if you just keep replacing the timing belt, so you should be praising me for this incredibly smart purchase at my young age.
³ My mother always taught me that changing lanes like this is pointless. It doesn’t get you where you’re going faster. It doesn’t move traffic along. “People who drive like that think life is a game and every second is an opportunity for a winning move. What they don’t know is that they’ve already lost if they’re caught in traffic like this. If they’re that desperate to get ahead that they put their own lives at risk, not to mention the lives of everyone around them, they’ve already lost. It’s pathetic.” That said, I have no sympathy for that man. He had no less than three flags waving on his truck. At least half a dozen offensive bumper stickers. And he was wearing a red hat. You know the one.
⁴ Before the crash, Mom and I were singing along with Whitney, belting about how much we would always love you and how much joy we wished you would have. (Obviously, we weren’t talking about you. You’re terrible. This form is terrible. Insurance is a scam. I’m dealing with the worst trauma of my life, and you expect me to fill in paperwork. Despicable.) Our voices trembled as we tried and failed and tried again to hit those damn high notes. It didn’t matter. We were going to the beach. Having a girls day, just the two of us. It seems so frivolous now.
⁵ I know because the clock on the dash was one of the first things I saw. I know because I had just picked Mom up at her work after getting out of Spanish club. I know because I will never not know. I know even though you don’t care when or why or who. I know we’re just numbers and dollars to you, despite what your marketing says.
⁶ Not listed here because I have been advised it’s not germane:
Passenger (DOA): cracked skull, broken ribs, crushed kidneys, hemorrhaging
Driver (alive, technically): bruised face, bloody lip, PTSD
⁷ You will never see these notes, so you will never know how I really feel. Most days, I barely know myself. People keep calling me a “survivor,” telling me I’m “surviving” and if I “survive” this it will make me stronger, as if I don’t already know what survival means, as if the absurdity of biology and biology class hadn’t already taught me that the “survival of the fittest” is a lie. Often, it’s just survival of the meanest or of the most cunning. Entire industries have been built around my grief. Condolence wreaths. “I’m Sorry for Your Loss” cards. Misery chocolate. I’m just a high school girl trying to make it to graduation. You ask me for my comment? I ask you: where’s my fucking money?
⁸ I reserve the right to call and complain about your incompetence later.
Ruth Joffre is the author of the story collection Night Beast. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kenyon Review, Lightspeed, Gulf Coast, Prairie Schooner, The Masters Review, Pleiades, and The Florida Review Online and will be anthologized in Best Microfiction 2021 and Unfettered Hexes: Queer Tales of Insatiable Darkness. She lives in Seattle, where she serves as Prose Writer-in-Residence at Hugo House.
