Twenty Years Later

The Honda minivan was parked in a hydraulic lift on the side of the Los Angeles high school swimming pool. Avery chose the make and model because of their connection to the middle class. The minivan was among the most commonly driven vehicles in the United States. Sinking a $60,000 BMW in a high school swimming pool might be exciting to watch, but demonstrating to stay-at-home mothers how to escape their sunken vehicle was much better accomplished using an average run-of-the-mill automobile. Avery checked the seat belt buckle for the third time in less than a minute. Christine Swanson, her executive producer, leaned through the open driver's side window. Good? she asked. Avery nodded. Show me the abort sign again, Christine said. Avery took the four fingers on her right hand and waved them back and forth in front of her throat. If you ever get panicked or just can't remember what to do, give the abort signal and the drivers will have you out in ten seconds. Got it? Avery nodded. Words, Avery. I need to hear your voice. Yes, Christine. I've got it for Christ's sake. Let's go. We're about to sink you in the car you're sitting in to the bottom of a swimming pool, Christine said in a calm voice trying to control the panicked moment. I want to make sure your head is in the right place. Of course my head is not in the right place, Chris. If it were, I wouldn't be doing this. And if we don't do it soon, I'll lose my nerves. So let's get this show on the road. Christine nodded. Okay, you've got this. Christine backed away from the minivan, stuck her fingers between her lips and whistled. It was an ear-splitting screech that echoed off the walls of the cavernous aquatic center. Let's roll.