Bad Girl House

On a weekend that we weren’t seeing Jonathan, we were on our way to my house. We may have been heading back from John’s apartment, or from my grandparents’ house that was only a short distance away. While riding beside him, I was gazing at the corn fields along the side of the road. wasn’t thinking about his mood —until we pulled up beside another car at a stop light. That’s when I got nervous. At this particular light, when it turned green, the cars in both lanes needed quickly to merge into one. The people who lived in the area were familiar with this. If there was already a car waiting at the light when you approached it, it was common courtesy to stay back a bit so that that the first car could pull ahead when the light turned green. There were of course those people who would still pull up beside the car that was already int he other lane. That’s what John had done. John looked over at the man in the car next us, and gripped the steering wheel tighter. The man in the other car didn’t think much about which lane he was in. He probably assumed that the person beside him would b allow him to safely merge into the one lane. That would send everyone down the street, and on with the rest of their day. Little did he know, that was not what was about to happen. As the light turned green, both cars began to move. The other car seemed to jolt forward in an effort to merge after passing us. John was not going to let that happen. He stepped on the gas, staying right beside the other car. Neither one was slowing down.

“Stop it! Just let him pass!” I screamed as I held onto the arm rest, and to my door handle. I was terrified we were going to crash. John could have run the other car into oncoming traffic. I closed my eyes, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop this. Suddenly John slammed on the breaks and I was jerked forward. For some reason, so had the man in the other car. He was looking at John, yelling at him. Not saying a word, John jumped out of the car and ran around to the other driver’s side window. With the man sitting there holding his steering wheel, John reached into the car, turned it off, grabbed the keys and flung them over the fence and into the corn field. He then strutted back to our car. The man sat there stunned, with a look of disbelief on his face. I watched him get out of his car and pace back and forth in the street, as John got back in the car. As we drove away and I could see him standing at the fence, staring into the corn field. Even now, I think about that day every time I drive by this field. I still wonder what the man did after we drove away. Did he climb the fence to look for his keys? Did he call someone to bring him extra keys or even to pick him up?

This had not been a teenager in a hotrod. The other driver hadn’t looked over at us and flicked John off. He had been a middle-aged man, dressed in a nice suit. All he had done was pull up to a traffic light before we did. We’ve all had a few choice words for a driver in another car. We’ve let out but with our windows up, mostly to make ourselves feel better. To actually see someone to go into a complete fit of road rage was terrifying. I did yell at John about what he had just done, but his reaction to that is no longer with me. I don’t remember if we continued to my house, if he only dropped me off when we got there, or if we went somewhere else. From that point on, I never felt totally safe when riding in a vehicle with John. Driving is unpredictable enough without having to worry about the mental state of the person behind the wheel. This day was a screaming example of how John's unpredictability could happen at any moment.