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My Turn Nancy Christenson |
If you’re driving, leave
your testosterone behind
I'm going to kill someone. Oh, no, oh God, I'm going to wipe out a family.That was the first coherent thought I had after the world started rotating around my car. The left guardrail, the oncoming traffic behind me, the other guardrail, the cars ahead of me all flashed past my windshield.The top of my '93 Miata was down and the wind shrieked, plastering my hair first to one side, then the other as the car spun wildly as it slid sideways across the H-1 at Waikele. At the end of the second spin I had the presence of mind to try to steer out of it, but the little car was rotating too fast. It shot right past the 12 o'clock position and entered the third rotation. Burning rubber screamed, black smoke covered the road.
The young man in the small red car apparently was trying to kill me. I'd done the unthinkable: I'd passed him. Clearly, it infuriated him. I ignored his flashing headlights. I changed lanes; he followed. I slowed down, hoping he'd get bored, then sped up when he ducked behind me and sat inches off my bumper.
I'm 42 years old, for God's sake, leave me alone. I'm not racing, I was just passing. Go away.It was about 10:45 p.m. last Tuesday, with plenty of cars around, but that didn't matter to the driver of the red car. He had one last pathetically immature, life-changing move to make.He sped past me on the left, cut in front of my car and slammed on his brakes. I yanked the wheel to the right, barely missing him, then slowed, again hoping he'd give it up. Instead, he came back around, got behind me, then sped ahead on the left again and cut in front of me again, slamming on his brakes. Again. I reacted an instant before he cut over, knowing it was coming. I was furious, indignant and terrified. How dare he try to kill me?
The third time, he was literally just inches in front of me on the left, and I didn't think he'd come over just yet, he was much too close. But he did it -- he dodged over and nailed his brakes.
I was going to hit him, there was no way to avoid it. Well, one way, I found out as I wrenched the wheel to the right again. My car started to spin right, so I pulled it back and when it swung back to the left the tires broke loose. Spinning counterclockwise, I saw my killer's car, which was now next to mine, go past my windshield as I slid sideways past it.
I'm tired of this, tired of little teenage boys and men who should know better forcing everyone else on the road to watch for them. Even if you do watch, even if you think you're careful, it's not enough if someone really wants to hurt you. And for what? Because I challenged his manhood by passing him? How do you get through a single day if something like that pisses you off so much?
During the third spin, I thought about my mom. Who would tell her? She'd been so worried about me. Mom was always worried about me. At least I wasn't on my motorcycle. No, I was going to die on four wheels, fooling everyone. Worse, I knew someone was going to hit me. Maybe a pregnant mother of six in a van, or some other woman's husband coming home from work. She'd get a phone call.
"No, no, no!"The Miata spun for the fourth time, its rotation slowing. I gently steered in the opposite direction as 12 o'clock came around again. The car came out of the spin a bit early and shot across the freeway headed for the right-side guardrail, a concrete wall. Cars somehow whizzed past. Right before it hit the wall, the car turned and stopped, parking itself perfectly on the shoulder with an inch to spare on either side. (OK, I did that, but who'd believe me?)The car's in the shop with a ruined suspension, for starters. But it didn't roll, thanks to solid engineering, and nobody was hurt. I praise the skill of the other drivers who avoided hitting me. If you witnessed this on the H-1 near Waikele last Tuesday, and if you remember any details about the red car, please contact me. I've got a few words for that guy.
Nancy Christenson is assistant editor of the Star-Bulletin editorial section. She can be reached at 529-4335 or at nchristenson@starbulletin.com
My Turn is a periodic column written by
Star-Bulletin staff members expressing
their personal views.