Premiere I sat up and Vickie leaned forward so I could lift my arm over her head. Vickie settled back into the seat beside me.
My arm felt odd–actually there was no feeling in it at all. Using my shoulder I swung my arm forward until it was above the steering wheel, pointing at the windshield. My arm wouldn't respond to my effort to bend it. With my left hand I grabbed my right wrist and bent it toward me. Then I let it go.
I've never asked a doctor exactly why the arm acted as it did that night. Apparently the weight of Vickie's head pushing my skinny, upper arm against the top of the car's seat squeezed something inside: the flow of blood may have been cut off, or a nerve may have been pinched. The appalling result was that inside my upper arm my biceps muscle, which bends the arm, was no longer working, while the triceps muscle, which straightens the arm, was working all too well.
When I released my right wrist the arm shot out as the triceps muscle pulled it straight. The momentum developed by the sudden action carried the arm in an arc to my right. It happened too quickly for me to react. I could only sit there, horrified, as the elbow snapped toward Vickie. She had settled down into the seat so that the arm, in its wild rush, passed over her. She was not struck by the maniacal limb, but she was surprised.
I quickly went from surprise to panic.