It is a few short days after Thanksgiving, and the steady strong rumble of rainfall on tin roof has created a soothing backdrop of white noise to the day, lulling me into a sense of complacency and helping the hours to flee until, at last, I glance at the clock at the corner of the screen and think, "It's late enough." My fingers dance and images flicker until the screen is clean and blue and then black, and my jacket is in my hand and I am gone, the grey walls aching for my absence.
I step into night, and as is so often the case find myself surprised in the temerity of the day to flee without me, to leave me without notice or illumination or a glimpse of the world as others may live it. The rain is heavy and cold. "Wonderful," I think, and with nothing like feline grace I traverse the lot, find my vehicle, and slide inside. The windows fog instantaneously when I close the door, but the engine fires hot and instant, and I blow the vents on high until they clear and I can see through to the infinite droplets of night as they collide with the glass, shattering on impact. The gentle LED glow tells me I have just over an hour to make my way to three children at two schools, in another town far but not too far away. I punch the stereo alive, slip the car into D and let the engine do its work.
My left hand rests at the top of the wheel, fingers drumming in time with the frenzied beat of the music and the crash of water against metal and glass, guiding the car through the twisting neighborhood road that leads from the business park to the highway. Headlights of oncoming cars flash past me with alarming speed and certainty of purpose, mirroring my own as we slip past the open mouths of driveways and the soft blinking pulse of homes embroidered with Christmas lights, refracted through rainfall and half-hidden behind trees and thin condensation. This is a time of transition, a segue from one part of life to another. This is what we pass through in order to reach what matters.
And then, the road splits and breaks and at once I spill onto the highway, my engine revving high and strong as the roar from my speakers, pulling me seamlessly into the flow of traffic and then one lane left and then one lane left, and then I am in my habitat: moving past those who never heard Tom Waits' admonition that a little rain never hurt no one, watching the minutes drop away and vanish behind me as I flow from one point on the map to another, toward the waiting arms of my children. I will hear my daughters cry my name with joy and hurtle across the room to meet me, and it will be the best part of my day.
It is easy to lose yourself in these permutations and subtle shadings of amber, in this slow-drawing tide of time and shifting light as the black road slips beneath you and the exits tumble by like drifting clouds, to draw deep breath and close your eyes and wait to awaken: arrived and whole and ready to embrace your destination. The motion feels automatic; a function of nervous system and sense memory and infallible internal guide, bringing you home.
Someplace high in the darkness, a new shade of red appears, distant and distinct and visible even through this thick wet ink of night sky, and without effort I shift into a different gear -- recognizing that as I approach the towers I approach my own exit, and so I slide right, and then right again, and ready myself for the slow crush of moving bodies as lanes collapse upon each other and lives merge and divide. I slip out of reverie and am fully conscious and in control as I guide the car through the shifting traffic and shimmering walls of rain. I see the sign, green and familiar. My route, 1 mile. The road slows before me, and I wait to make my move.
And then, it arrives. First, an offramp pulls a stream of lives from my path, and I ready for the moment: for that brief, frenzied stretch of three hundred yards where onramp bleeds traffic onto the highway and where offramp pulls others - including me - off and away. This is the road I travel every day, and as I look ahead I see cars beginning to peel off and to the right as they make their move, opening the road for the wagon directly in front of me and I glance right, and see the road clear with only a small white car coming up the onramp and I begin my swift slide over and glance right again one last time only to find that the white car is accelerating I can't believe how fast it's moving and realize it's trying to cut me off and so I surge forward to take my place and keep this exchange of platelets from artery to capillary running clean and clear and at that moment my eyes shift forward and the wagon in front of me is hitting the brakes - there is no one in front of him, but he is hitting his brakes - and I have no place to go and there is that half-second of instinct pure and unconscious as my fingers shift the wheel to the right and I sliiiiiiide past the wagon's rear bumper by less than a foot and in front of the speeding white car and before I can even think to speak I am on the offramp and pressing down on the brake and slowing my descent and realizing just how close
how close I just came to a high-speed collision
and my heart is a jackhammer and I don't even know what I'm saying but I'm screaming spitting damning the road and the drivers and I can't believe, it's been forever since I've come anywhere even close to that, I can't believe how close I just came. The blood is roaring in my ears, and I'm still screaming with rage and relief as I segue onto the new road - another, smaller highway - and merge without hesitation into this new flow and continue on my way. To my children. To my home.
I will my heart slower. I feel my throat going raw, and will it smooth. I will the moment past, make it something that happened and is gone, and push forward. There is still road ahead. There are still destinations to be reached.
The miles flow without incident, and then I reach my next exit. A quick right, and then a left turn, and I slide under the highway and over the train tracks and pull to a full stop at a red light. My daughters' school is only a minute away. I cannot wait to be done with this day.
The light goes green, and I turn right. My turn - my final turn, before I arrive at the school - is only a hundred yards up the road, to the left. The road is busy, overflowing with commuters, the rain pouring hard and fast, and I sit on the road for more than a full minute, blinker blinking, waiting to make my left turn, watching one set of bright white lights after another flash fast then faster as they surge forward and make sure they get by before allowing me to make my turn. And then, finally, there is a brief break in the flow of cars - my window of opportunity - and so I make my turn and accelerate forward to move onto the road where my daughters' school awaits but instantly there is a flash of brown in front of me and in a half-second of instinct pure and unconscious my fingers shift the wheel to the right and I sliiiiiiide past and slam on the brakes and before I can even think I know - there was somebody in the fucking crosswalk on the road I was turning onto and I never even saw them - and there is a pounding on my window and he is standing there, a kid, a fucking kid only 16 or 17 years old, and he's yelling at me "What the fuck, you almost hit me," and I'm yelling back, "I swear, I never even saw you until you were right there, are you okay, are you okay, I swear, I never saw you, are you okay, jesus christ, I'm so sorry, I swear, I never saw you" and I know
how close I just came to
(can't. even. think. it.)
and he is standing there and the rain is pouring down on top of him and his eyes are huge and my eyes are huge and we are looking at one another and gasping for air and both realizing that there was no fault no intent no mistake just a complete accident of happenstance and timing and night and rain and how close we both just came to
(no.)
and I can't stop asking him if he's okay and telling him I'm sorry and not understanding how he could be there and remembering that flash of brown so close to my window as I slid past
and for a minute we are there together, absorbing all that happened and almost happened, both horrified and angry and overflowing with something like sorrow and relief, and then he leaves and
my heart is a jackhammer, and I gently pull the car forward and in a minute I pull into the school lot. Then I shift it into park, and turn off the engine. I feel sick. I feel like weeping. Inside my daughters are waiting for me.
