Member-only story
Write Here Prompt — Remembering a Stranger
It Took Every Little Ounce of Bravery to Get into the Patrol Car
Was I Being Arrested?
Driving my 1969 VW Bug on the freeway meant I was always taking a chance because it was light as a feather. When I say light as a feather, I mean a big rig would drive past me, and if I wasn’t holding on to the steering wheel tight, I might blow over to the adjacent lane.
In the winter, I drove slowly. A good winter wind would shake that little buggy to its core. One wintry day, the wind did blow my car across two lanes of the freeway. Thankfully, there weren’t any cars near me.
One night, I was driving home from a party. It was 3 a.m., and I had been drinking. I was tipsy, hanging on to the steering wheel like it was my best friend. The dimly lit freeway had my bleary eyes peeled to the road like I was a fighter pilot.
Suddenly, my car sputtered. No, no, no. I’m almost there. It sputtered again. I went a little bit further as it choked and spit at me. Please, please, please. I finally pulled over under what seemed like the only overhead light on the road. I’m sure I’m exaggerating, but, y’know, a little booze, and everything seems darker than it should be.
