The way things work here

Driving east out of Olympia, Washington at five in the morning, the sun is impossibly bright. That's because, in my opinion, it rises in the West and, if you're going West, its all hitting your windshield and face.
"Jillian, I study science! I know how things work! Look that up- things that are true about sunrises..." Daren dissolves into hysterical laughter, thin chest pounding in and out, dreadlocks shaking beneath their purple bandana. I'm smug because I know he thinks I'm hilarious and lately, I've been believing him. Daren and I are beginning a two- week drive from him hometown in Washington State to Durham, NH, to start our sophomore year. We met just over a year ago; he and I were sharing a sunny spot on a large rock in that part of campus called the "Fishbowl" when I put down my book, he put down an apple and we started a conversation. Best friends, adventurers, schemers, dreamers - our own tall talls and self invention never ceased. By now we have been preparing for this trip all summer. I own over twenty five painfully specific maps. Daren has made CDs including hundreds of hours of music. We have both goaded another friend into waiting for us in Laramie, Wyoming just so we can pick someone else up, hopefully alongside dusty highway 85 or 87. Maybe she'll be holding her suitcase, hands curved over brow, waiting for us. We have been envisioning our pilgrimage across America since we hiked through the snowy Whites in the East last windy winter and planning since we swam in an impossibly clear rainforest lake last week. We have spent all night carefully strapping six suitcases to the top of Daren's two door, standard tranismission Ford, with eleven bungee cords. Eyes blearly with sleep deprivation, we made a deal to wake up at four, hit Portland by six thirty.
Now we're turning onto the freeway and that western sun is positively blinding. But, the road is empty--the morning is still so fresh! I crank down my window and let my arm fully extend, fingers combing the air, head back, music blaring, the sound of the transmission gearing up, my vision of this moment taking over, laughing, laughing....
CRACK
Eyes open. My heart is pounding. My reactions are slow.
Loud cracks and thumps from around the car, snapping sounds. The road is out of focus from opening my eyes to the sun. Daren is rapidly yanking on the gears. The transmission is squealing in response and shaking those sputters like only a damaged car can. Panicing, I catch sight of our reaview mirror. I've missed the initial bungee snaps and suitcase hits but I'm looking in time to see all of our luggage blowing backwards down the road behind us, bursting open and our clothes flying in front of cars, catching the wind and flying. All that stuff, everything we need that we improperly tied to our tiny tin can car, floating in that bright, bright sunshine, suspended for a moment of shock, movement, flight.