Green Eyes

Green Eyes

“Pull over,” he says, frantic. I go to pull over, but just in the middle of the road, arousing annoyance from the other drivers. They begin to honk. The hefty policeman walks towards my window, bending over slightly, gesturing for me to roll down my window. My brown eyes meet his magnificent green eyes.

“Do you know what the speed limit on this road is?” he says, pointing down to the ground.

“No, officer, I don’t,” I say. He quickly gestures his hands, waving forth. Is he assuming I can read his mind?

“Drivers and registration, ma’am.”

“Of course.”

“It's a thirty, and you were going 43,” he says.

“Huh,” I say, while handing him my license and registration. While my grunted reply is not answered, he begins to inspect my license and registration. While he glances up and down from my license, I quickly drive away from him, letting his toes crunch beneath my left front tire. I roll all of my windows down, expecting a quick release of some emotions I cannot decrease. In the background, I hear sirens, juxtaposed against my own racing thoughts. There are distant yells from the magnificent-green-eyed-cop’s loudspeaker, telling me to pull over, but I am going 50 in the 30, I have no time to listen.

This clutter stops my thinking process..

I start relentlessly grabbing my collection of phone books stacked on my car floor, and begin to chuck them out of my window.

Man, I hope he manages to get his toes fixed.