Traffic is a Nightmare

I left my house and walked over to my car.

I sensed the grey, but did not see the fog roll in.

Not at first. Not the moment the sky fell. The full moon disappeared.

As soon as I merged onto the freeway, my windows fogged up.

Windshield, side, door, rear-view all wrapped in gauze. I was totally enveloped.

I forced my clenched right hand, knuckles white, fumbled for the defroster.

The fan whirred, but provided no relief. The pall pressed against my face.

Unable to see, I became disoriented. Lost.

No shoulder on the short entrance ramp, I had to blindly merge into traffic.

I heard a horn blare as something moved passed me.

My knuckles cracked under the strain on the wheel.

I had no choice, There was nowhere to go. I had to move forward.

I took a deep breath, pressed down on the gas pedal. Longed for the breaks.

I anticipated the sound of crushing metal; all I heard were squealing tires.

Above my sight line, a small spot formed on windshield; defroster now engaged.

I leaned forward, squinted through the growing clear bubble; saw defused taillights.

I flipped the right turn signal, intent on getting off at the next exit.

I felt lights flash over my shoulder; hoped it was a kind driver, urging me over.

I made it to the traffic light, which thankfully was red, and rolled down the windows.

All the fog inside my car escaped as quickly as it had enveloped me.

The light turned green; somehow I made my way home.

I had been less than two miles from my home.

I sat in my driveway as if I had just returned from a long journey.

I went inside, took a hot shower, then made a cup of tea.

Grateful to be in the comfort and safety of my home, I turned on the television.

The 11:00 p.m. news came on; the reporter’s voice caught my attention:

“It appears the car was trying to avoid another car merging into traffic,”

The camera panned over to a small blue car upside down on the median.

“The driver was declared dead on the scene,” the reporter said.

I had just been at that very spot, the spot where I had blindly merged into traffic.

I felt a lump form in my throat; my hands began to shake.

Could it have been me? Did anyone witness what happened?

I did not leave my house for days. Waited for a knock on my front door.

Waited for the police to come confront me, take me away in cuffs.

They never came. I picked up the phone to turn myself in; never made the call.

Finally, I convinced myself I had nothing to do with the fatal car crash.

There had been other cars on the road whose drivers would have reported me.

A lot of time has passed, I still have a lingering feeling of responsibility.

Night after night, I relive the fog around my throat, as I blindly merge into traffic.