Stay for a While (part two of a series)
I was a fugitive on the run. I was a fugitive on the run doing exactly the speed limit and frenetically looking around to make sure no one crashed into me. I have never driven so nervously in my life. That morning, I didn’t realize how much deep shit I was in, so I drove normally. But now… oh man… I could practically feel the other motorists breathing down my neck.
At least it was pretty early, so I didn’t hit any traffic. That is, until I was about a mile from the Framingham exit. I just kept thinking the word “no” over and over again. I was probably saying it out loud. I just didn’t want to be late and miss my chance at insuring my car.
I don’t have to take the Framingham exit. That exit dumps you on route 9, which is a relatively speedy road, and a straighter line to Westborough, but it’s no highway. The other option is to go on to 495 and hop up an exit there. More mileage, but it can be faster sometimes.
With the traffic as it was, though, I couldn’t wait to get off the Pike. I moved over to the right lane early and patiently let cars pass me (something I don’t normally do). Then I saw it.
When I had left the building at work just a short while back, I realized that I hadn’t moved the necessary funds into my checking account. The money was in savings, and totally accessible, but it wasn’t in the exact correct place. So I had halted in my tracks just outside the door of my building. I probably spent a full minute agonizing over whether to go up and fix it on my computer, go over to the ATM across the street (and in the opposite direction of my car), or just wait and go to my own bank’s ATM right around the corner from the insurance agency.
Those sixty seconds may have saved me. Because there it was, about sixty driving seconds away from where the traffic was backed up – a fender bender. No one appeared to be hurt, but as I pulled off into the exit ramp, I couldn’t help but think that could have been me.
Thank you, God.
“These Words” by Natasha Beddingfield was playing on the radio at that moment. It’s a song I always sing along with at the top of my lungs. But this time, I wasn’t singing to my fabulous boyfriend in my head. I was belting, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you” in the general direction of heaven.
Route 9 did me no wrongs, and I was soon pulling around on to Route 30. Route 30 didn’t learn how to be nice from Route 9, so I found myself stuck in a little bit of traffic – the back up from the ridiculous rotary downtown. But through sheer willpower, we all made it to our destinations. Or, at least, I did. I could care less about those other motorists.
I signed some things, I wrote a couple checks, I “mea-culpa”-ed, and I was on my way.
I had noticed as I crossed under 495 on my way to the insurance brokers that there was quite a bit of traffic on the southbound side. I was so not about to deal with that crap, so after a quick stop at the ATM to transfer the appropriate funds and grab some cash, I turned my (now insured) car westbound on Route 9.
Lucky I did, too, because I needed gas, and there was a pretty cheap gas station. A Sunoco, in fact. And Sunocos are awesome because they have 91 octane. That’s what flavor gas my car likes the best.
After waiting approximately forever for the idiots in front of me on the ramp get on to Route 20, it was my turn. Finally, I was on the way. 20 to 122 to 90 to 84.
Mmm… Interstate 84. My old friend. My dear old friend. Full of speed traps. Thank God for cruise control. Yes, cruise control. The only way to really ensure that the Connecticut cops don’t stop me for going 66 in a 65. Damn those Massachusetts plates. (Actually, really damn them, because they’ve been causing me trouble all day.)
So, there we are (me and my fellow motorists), bopping along the road, and I’m thinking to myself that I’m just going to make it. Sweet. I like being on time.
Then, I see it. That familiar and haunting sight. The sight no driver who is just barely going to get to their destination in time hates to see. Break lights.
“No! No, no, no, no, no…”
But yes, it was true. I had visions of horrible accidents or other nasty traffic incidents ahead. But I couldn’t imagine what was really to be found. Suddenly, everything was wet. The ground was wet. My car was wet. The trees were wet. The sky was falling, and the sky is apparently made out of our good friend water.
My windshield wipers couldn’t go fast enough. Half the cars had their four-ways on. I joined in. A good number of cars were just stopped on the side of the road, their drivers too nervous to continue. I couldn’t afford the lost time, so I pressed on.
The air smelled of ozone, and the sky occasionally lit up bright with lightening. It was close, but I didn’t think it was too close. We kept going, the rain came down harder and harder, but we had destinations in mind. Twenty-five miles per hour is better than zero miles per hour.
Eventually, and finally, the rain lifted, and we sped our asses back up to full speed. It wasn’t long before I was pulling off at the exit. Okay, it was long. It felt like forever. But that’s just because I ran out of water, and I was hungry. I got to my parents’ house, where my sister was waiting, parked the car in the driveway, ran up to the door, rang the doorbell, and spat out, “I need food, lip gloss, and a potty. Not necessarily in that order.”
“Go to the bathroom, then!”…