The Drive Home

This post was originally written on June 11, 2012. It remains unedited from its first posting except for line breaks and misspellings. Of course it could use some editing, but it's been so long that I don't think I can accurately recall that day in every detail. This is practically a stream of conscious that was jotted down immediately after the mentioned events. Note: Betty White was my car at the time, a '93 white Corolla that I bought for $1,500 at a police auction.

I'm talking with my second boss, Chuck, about skydiving. Everyone else has already left the office because of the storm. I'm leaving because the internet is down. Chuck would never skydive. "Why would I jump out of a perfectly good airplane?" "Would you skydive, Witt?" My response is the same as most risk-taking endeavors: Probably, if someone else is paying for it. God chooses when you die.

The storm is just a speed bump in my day. Oh, I dread the other drivers, not the storm."I'll see you tomorrow, Chuck." Key ready, I dash to the far side of the parking lot - where my car is parked. Parking is quantitative, not qualitative to me. Only mildly drenched, I consider the quest a success since the paycheck in my pocket is dry. Start up, back out, have a mini panic attack upon forgetting how defogging works.

Car stalls on incline like it's been doing recently.

It's raining sideways. Everything is gray. I depart North on Germantown Parkway. I come across the first of many large pools quickly gathering water. I turn my wipers up to three. Not high enough. There is no fourth setting; the seed of anxiety is planted. West on Trinity Road. The rain is picking up or holding steady. I can't tell. Going around a bend that's banked right in my favor, a red truck appears no more than forty feet ahead of me - in oncoming traffic. No headlights. Idiot.

I have two hands on the wheel. That's not something you see very often. There's a loud crack on my windshield. Where'd that rock come from? During the next dozen contacts, I figure out it's hail. Really hard hail. The road curves left. Well, that's good. At least I have more tree cover now. That should cut down on the rain and slow down the hail some. It doesn't. The clouds shotgun my windows and drop mortars on my roof - which now sounds so less sturdy than I believed it to be. Stop sign, finally. The halfway point.

I continue - until a large tree limb blocks my path - and a realization is made very real to me, the threat of being crushed. I readjust my hands on the crusty, faux leather steering wheel cover. Another big puddle. Why were these fun to go through when I was a kid? I fear losing control of my car now. What bothers me most about them now is that, whenever my front, right wheel goes through a modestly sized puddle, it sprinkles down in water droplets on my feet. Yes, the driver's side.

A couple stop signs later and I slow down far in advance for an area that was the worst last time it rained heavily. The three-lane street is covered with an area of water that deserves no less of a title than "pool." Apparently, I was the last on the road to remember than the left lane is the best lane. I was in the middle as I enter it. My feet and legs are showered. Betty White is taking on the ocean as far as I'm concerned. We traverse the ire and come to that traffic light. The traffic light that is always red. Unlike most others, this one shows no mercy to any traveller. It's red no matter which direction you're coming from or at whatever time you approach it, yet traffic continues. It's being studied by scientists and I'm fairly certain it's in the running to be a Wonder of the World. This stop light did not fail me; my car resigned for a moment and my head rested on the window but in the relief of stress rather the reception of it. The truck in front of me moves forward and so do I with an unfamiliar sound being made by Betty.

Next stop light, I'm at the front. Betty sounds much worse. Glug, glug, sputter. Glug, glug, glug, sputter. I eke forward to give her more gas. That works for a moment but then it's back to the onomontapoeia. Eke, stop, eke, stop, eke, stop, green light. Starting off it sounds like she's going to die. Success and we're rolling. Green light, red light, puddle, yellow light, uphill, downhill.

I'm approaching the light where I'll turn onto the neighborhood street. Where I'll be safe. Going uphill the sleek, new asphalt is a drab reflection of the lights and telephone poles. I make my turn left and let out a sigh of relief. This street is as wide as I-40 and dead ends in about one mile. I turn onto my street and slowly make my way to the house that holds my bed, Macbook Pro and internet. I put my car in park, set the wipers to zero, turn off my headlights, turn the key counter-clockwise and sigh. Tears well in my eyes as I chuckle. Thank you, God.