GPS
God Please Save
Me
(Gigantic Paralyzing Slopes)

Chapter one

“Recomputing, recomputing, recomputing.”

“Shut up...” I moan, reaching over and turning the useless GPS off. Even without the robotic woman's voice, I still hear “Recomputing” echoing in my head.
I look out of the car windows. I'm parked in the middle of the “Road”, in the middle of the Alps in Austria or... maybe Switzerland. Surrounded by mountains, high up in the midst of them. Oh and there's also a snow storm going on outside the car.. well maybe not a snow storm, but for someone whose never seen snow, it might as well be one. On top of all that, my bladder is in a lot of pain from holding back for two hours.
I feel like swearing, but my six year old niece is still awake, and I'm sure my brother wouldn't like Maurise to repeat the four letter word I'm thinking of.

“I should've stayed at the airport.” I look back to give Maurise and give a half smile. “By this time your dad would've fixed up the truck, huh?”

Maurise nods. “Oh yeah, he fixes cars all the time.”

I turn back to the wheel and look around at the looming faces of the rock covered in snow. I switch out of park and inch my way on the icy mountain path. “Okay... where... is... the... interstate?” I ask myself aloud slowly and uncertainly.

“Um. I don't think Europe has an interstate,” Maurise tells me with a laugh.

“Dang!”
We both sigh. Maurise goes back to playing on her Nintendo DSI, I go back to glaring at the mountains and concentrating on not letting the car slip slide into a snow bank, or off the mountain ledge to my right. For about five minutes we go in silence, the only sounds being my sighs and the video game sounds of Harry Potter casting magical spells.

“How about some music?” I reach over and turn the radio on.
Static.
I turn the channel, no luck. I turn the channel until I've gone through them all and I'm back to the first static-y channel.

“What kind of songs do you have?”

I lean all the way across the car-- my bladder protesting-- and I riffle through my decorative jean carry-on bag and find the “mix-tape” CD my hot Puerto Rican boyfriend gave as a parting gift. I push it into the CD player and wait for it start. Oh it starts... with an inappropriate self-recorded message from my darling Elonzo, telling me how beautiful I am

“What's this?” Maurise asks in horror. “Did he say-”

I hurriedly skip Elonzo's intro and try to focus on the road. The mix-tape turns out to be a lot of homemade songs that Elonzo wrote and played with his friends, none being appropriate for my six year old niece's ears.

“God, Elon,” I sigh in exasperation at him and take out the CD. I would have been beside myself with giggles if Maurise wasn't with me, and I probably would have loved it. But I think the fact that my niece was with me that made me have the horrified-parent-protective feeling.
So I go back to riffling through my belongings and then my fingers rest on my favorite CD of all time. I hold it up for Maurise to see.
“This is the worlds best music ever.” I pop it in and immediately feel a glow of happiness.

“Help! I need somebody.
Help! Not just anybody
You know I need someone
Hel-l-l-p!”

Maurise sighs in exasperation. “The Beatles, again?”

I nod, bopping my head to the music and singing along. “Best album ever.”

Maurise groans and shakes her head, looking back down at her little screen. I probably had tortured the poor girl the week she spent with me and my parents in Florida, with all the classic's I played in my classic old GTO that my dad had past down to me. But I couldn't just let my only niece live without ever hearing The Cars, Queen, Simon & Garfunkel, Rolling Stones and of course, The Beatles. I couldn't really believe that my brother wouldn't tell her who The Traveling Wilburys are or not allow her to listen to the all time classic song “Stroke me”.

The rental car tires begin to skid and slide under what must be black ice... well maybe it's just ice, since it doesn't matter if I see it or not, the “road” is covered in snow.

“Oh god, save me,” I say under my breath, turning the wheel the best I could to control some of the sliding. I know if I brake, I'll either slide faster, or just go out of control. So we slide down the slope without control but without craziness. It takes all my will power to keep from wetting myself.

“What's happening with the car?” Maurise asks in a high-pitched scarred voice.

“Um... It's on ice, so I cant... I cant control it.”

“What? You cant control it?” Maurise begins to have a mini-meltdown, talking about the edge and how her father would be so angry with her and me if we go over the edge.

The car slowed and we were at the bottom of the slope, but we had a problem. The next slope... well, was...up.