Roadside Cross
When we face off against driving emotions and regulating speed.
Jason Hamilton shifted down into third gear, swearing as his red Jeep Cherokee rushed up onto the tailgate of a Honda Civic. “This is a highway not a school zone,” he said, as he revved in anger, decelerating his Jeep into third gear.
“Get over, get into the right lane,” Jason screamed, exhausted from working a double shift. “I don’t have time for this, hurry your ass up or get out of my way.”
Jason darted his eyes to the rear view mirror, a line of cars began to form behind him. Then he past a yellow diamond sign warning him of an end to the two lane road as he closed in on the Civic’s bumper, commanding the driver to speed up.
“Move it boomer, the speed limits 60 not 55,” he muttered, as the car ahead of him slowed to a pain inducing 45 mph.
Jason didn’t have much time. If he wanted to pass this turtle of a driver he’d need to cut fast to the right, accelerate and hope enough asphalt would carry him to the lead.
He glanced at his mirror, noticing the square grill of a Chevy Bronco getting closer to his tail.
Don’t blame me buddy! It’s the jack-off in front of me who’s driving too slow!
Jason had to make a decision. Drivers have been forced into guard rails, fallen into ditches with their taillights up, and shot at by angry commuters who bait their victims with road rage. The line of cars was growing and a blue Bronco road his ass like he was a dog in heat. All Jason wanted to do was get home, eat, shower, and sleep.
A sharp turn of the wheel and Jason cut out from behind the Honda, taking a position to pass on the right, followed in tandem by the raging Bronco stuck to his rear.
The Jeep’s engine roared as it hit the limits of third gear, Jason pushed in the clutch with his left foot, shifted and propelled himself forward pacing beside the Honda.
He looked ahead, relieved there would be plenty of road for him to pass, yet he was not outperforming the Civic’s speed. Jason tried looking out his driver’s side window into the cab of his opponent, but tinted windows concealed the driver. He could only imagine what madman was behind the wheel, as the bronco on his tail rode him hard.
Jason accelerated, reaching 80 miles per hour, shifting into fifth gear, he flew down his lane passing tall trees behind long metal guard rails in the hope of passing the silver Civic while two square headlights pushed him to move faster.
He was running out of road. White lines in the distance curved inward, the highway’s shoulder soon would fade his lane into none existence and Jason wasn’t gaining any ground in his race.
Lights flashed as the Bronco locked him in from behind. He could risk getting rammed in the rear, slam on his brakes or veer into the metal railings hoping the wooden posts might hold him back from plummeting into a gully of trees below.
Jason painted rubber on the road as he slammed his foot on the brakes. The Jeep’s tires squealed and he flipped the clutch into neutral anticipating an impact from behind.
The Bronco’s metal grill dug into the Jeep’s rear bumper, forcing Jason to turn his wheel. He smashed against the Honda Civic, jolting his foot off the brake, bouncing from the car and sliding into the barrier.
The metal railing peeled open as if made from cheap tin, sending Jason head first off the road. His Jeep dove, breaking branches, shattering glass, as he flew through the air.
Airbags exploded and metal buckled on stone, as Jason witnessed darkness and then the silence of nothingness.
Bryce Johansen pulled off to the side of the road. He starred at the twisted metal hanging over the cliff. His blue Bronco idled as he stayed at the scene, waiting for sirens to pull up behind him.
Harriett Thomas suffers a panic attack every time she passes the white cross on that stretch of highway. She remembers far too well what she witnessed coming home after her daughter’s PTA meeting. She drove behind a blue Bronco, as she stayed back, watching a silver Honda race a Jeep off the road. She arrived home late, kept at the scene to answer questions, unable to make dinner for her family.
Frank Smith now takes public transportation to work and does all his shopping online. He suffers from insomnia, depression, and no longer socializes with friends. Guilt has become his penance for his actions. Paranoia his mistress as he hides a silver Honda Civic under a blue tarp in a storage unit.
Copyright 2022 CMad Poet