The truck driver takes pity on you.

I was cracking under the stress. "I don't know, I'm so sorry but Ijustdon'tknow..." I blubbered out. "My dad... oh god my dad's gonna kill me, he's going to be so mad he'll kill me..."

I broke down sobbing, too scared and frightened to do anything but babble incoherently. The truck driver looked down at me for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision.

I felt a pair of strong hands take me by the shoulders and hoist me to my feet. "Calm down, son," he said. The anger had gone out of his voice. "Take a deep breath."

I slowly came back to myself. I must have looked like a wreck to him. Finally the tears died away.

"Why are you so scared of your father?"

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. How could I tell him, what could I possibly say? I had never been able to talk about it before.

The truck driver grimaced. "I see." He still looked like he wanted to kill someone, but at least now it didn't seem like all his anger was aimed at me.

He took several very deep breaths. "I'm... sorry... that I lashed out at you like that. I'm doing better, but I still... don't quite have my head together. You're a goddamn stupid driver, but no kid should be that scared about telling his parent about an accident."

He clapped one hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me, and do exactly as I say. I'm going to call the police, and report that I've had an accident. You're going to get on your phone and leave your daddy a message, telling him your car was stolen twenty minutes ago. Can you do that?"