Blind Streaks of Rage

Black road met my gaze. Exit 129 flashed green before fading into nothing. Bright headlights penetrated the growing darkness. Night was the silent companion, reaching for the dial to the car radio, but my thoughts took the wheel. And time became nothing but a ghost staring back at me in the rearview mirror.

I was meeting friends at a local diner. I almost cancelled. Lately, the thought of driving along these roads puts a knot in my stomach. Like clockwork, I could count one asshole driver going to my destination and returning home. Lately, it's like people can't drive. For whatever reason, I have the privilege of tangoing with them, but I rather drive along an empty road, occupied only with my thoughts. But not tonight.

Since arriving on Route 17, I had the honor of having the road before me ignited with bright, penetrating high beams. Darkness was chased into shadows, and the night was burned away. The tan SUV behind me kept a short distance away, but their headlights engulfed the rearview mirrors, trying to blind me. But I continued on, driving straight.

Upon arriving at Exit 126, I slowed down. I first dropped from sixty to fifty miles per hour, and they met my speed. I tapped the brake, allowing two cars on the exit ramp to take the road ahead of me. The exit ramp stretched further down along the right side, and the SUV swerved into that lane. But I tapped the gas, and they were forced back behind me. And they returned the favor with their bright high beams trying desperately to blind me.

They could easily have passed me in the left lane. That was what the left lane was for, speed demons like the one behind me. Instead, I dropped to forty miles per hour, and again they met my speed. I had no patience for this. I seem to be stuck doing this dance with drivers like this, and I would rather sit this one out. But I wasn't ready to step into the left lane. My exit was already coming up.

Like a bat out of hell, the tan SUV roared. The car jumped into the left lane without any indication, no flashing signal. I've learned how deadly the blind spot could be, and now I calculate before maneuvering. But obviously, this driver was a pro and nearly collided with me, ignoring the blind spot, so I tapped the gas. And they roared and screamed behind me.

The menacing shadow clung to their steering wheel. Black eyes pierced into my car, trying to hold my stare. Razor sharp claws dug into rubber, and a primal scream slipped through their lips. There was no humanity left, no conscience, and no care. They wanted blood, my blood, but I was a mere passerby heading to an unknown destination. But for some reason, I pulled the short straw.

The tan SUV menaced forward, brushing against my bumper. Plastic promised to kiss plastic, but a dent already told that somebody was once there. Lately, all I need is a bumper sticker over that spot that reads, "Put your name here." I have lost count of the countless tailgaters that have rode my ass in town and across major highways, and now another was kissing my rear. But as I tensed, gripping the steering wheel, salvation met my gaze; my exit was next.

Once again like a mindless frenzy, the tan SUV tore into the left lane, and the car in front of them signaled to cut me off. I allowed them in, a buffer for the mad man behind the other wheel. Like a waltz, we danced, swaying to a silent beat, and the tan SUV was denied from breaking in. And then, I signaled, ending our dance, and I departed from the road and onto the exit ramp.

I glanced back one last time. The tan SUV returned to the right lane, blinding the car in front of them. They met their speed. A new dance was ready to begin. The predator was out for blood, but it was denied mine. So, it would continue on, bearing down the long, dark road until either tiring from its game or succeeding in taking a life with another act of senseless violence.

I pulled into the diner parking lot. I sat there for a long moment, listening to the engine rattle on about what just happened. I cut the ignition and stepped out of my car, and in a flash, another driver tore away from the lot, burning rubber. It seemed like everybody was in a rush these days. It seemed like some would bet all, their life and mine. What was the point? What was the hurry, or did they want to wind up stuck in a ditch somewhere, something to remind them that they were alive not creatures of road rage?

The diner was quiet. A waitress stood to the side, counting her tips. The man behind the register chewed on a toothpick, swaying it side to side. An elderly man sat at the counter, enjoying a muffin and coffee. The glass doors slid closed behind me, and I melted into the warmth. And as I found my friends gesturing to me from a nearby booth, I started to feel again. I started to feel human.