SAD1

I don't know why I remember her face. That look of jumbled resignation and anxiety seemed to reach out from the blurry confusion of the moment. When I think about it, I can't even begin to explain the strangeness of the connection we made. It was as though we shared a lengthy conversation about the moment and its consequences through an impossibly unlikely glance. Why wasn't I focused on the car, or the road, or the lights? Was it instinct directing my eyes? Was there some deeper explanation? It still haunts me.

Perhaps I could have unraveled the mystery if I weren't late for work. Maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if I had felt as thought there were time to stop and get involved. But I was late for work. That's why I drove so fast in the rain. That's why I pushed my way through the passing lane for eight miles longer than was legal.

My supervisor was already unhappy with me, I couldn't afford another black mark on my record. It's not that I really care what he thinks of me, but I need the job. It is a matter of simple fact that I cannot risk being written up again. I already know I'd be the first to go if there were any excuse to lay a person off on my team. I have enough on my plate trying to work back into the good graces of my superiors without adding another mistake to the mountain of bad decisions that have placed me in this precarious position. My dependability was the only trait keeping me employed. I wasn't about to let rain or traffic steal that away as well.

Trying to make up time on the road is always a frustrating battle, though - especially when the weather is less than ideal. My own law-bending aside, I can't believe how many people don't seem to understand the simplest rules of the road. I can hardly feel guilty about my position either. There wasn't anyone behind me. It's not like I was impeding progress like she was. Of course I tailgated her. What business does anyone have driving five under in the passing lane. It boggles the mind.

She wasn't exactly polite about it. We played the typical games. She slowed down to punish me, then sped up and slammed on her brakes when I closed the gap again. As if she was entitled to blocking any lane she chose with her oversized sport utility. Flashing my brights did little to motivate her. She wanted to get around the semi, I can understand that. Why wouldn't she just speed up and get it over with, though?

Minutes passed with excruciating slowness while I waited for her to ease past, miles disappearing with the effort while I watched the clock speed toward another unpleasant conversation with my boss. I couldn't push this too hard with the rain pelting down on us. I could barely see out of my windshield through the bleary streaks left by my old wipers, left too long unreplaced. Obviously I was pushing enough though. About halfway past the trailer, she seemed to finally get the hint and felt sufficient discomfort to move a little more quickly toward her end goal.

I sensed escape was near and sped up, pulling wide to the left and thinking I might speed through the gap as she slowly switched lanes. I didn't see the little smart car struggling through the mist of traffic in front of the semi. She didn't either.

As the woman changed lanes, a horn blared out and she over-corrected upon catching sight of the man in the little car she almost crushed. I lifted my foot off the gas as I saw her front end swing back to my lane, but she lost control on the thin sheet of water running between the lanes. The rear of her vehicle kicked out and she slammed on the brakes faster than the semi could accommodate. A loud crunch signaled their collision and the force of it sent her into a spin.

I found my brakes and thought how strange it was that her sport utility didn't flip over like it seemed it should. She spun around in front of my car until the side of hers found the concrete divider protecting the center of the interstate. It was as she passed in front of me, in a moment which should have been filled with panic, that I caught sight of her face. Her day was ruined, she told me. Why was I being so pushy? She could have been safe. I don't know what my face conveyed. It didn't matter, though, because my actions spoke louder than my looks. After a hard brake and a quick turn, I squeezed past the wreck and found the open road I was looking for.

I should have stopped. I just couldn't afford to be late for work.