Speeding

I took the reverse curve of Rockaway Avenue on the proverbial two wheels. I knew Garden City was a heavily patrolled area, but it was 6:10 p.m., and I was supposed to have arrived by 6:00. I was late for a blind date, which is unlike me because I am known for my punctuality. But on this particular evening, I was not going to make it on time to my appointment.

The rubber tread of my sporty white Buick Skyhawk squealed. My rump, by force of the turn, was held firm in the black velour bucket seat. Both hands, with freshly manicured mauve fingernails, gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I was speeding. Headlights, I noticed in my rearview mirror, flashed repeatedly from the car behind me. Annoyed, I switched from the left to the right lane to give the tailgater room to pass. He didn’t, but instead moved with me into the right-hand lane.

Now out of the curve and approaching a traffic light and intersection, I released my heavy right foot from the gas pedal and coasted the slight decline in the road. The light turned red, I stopped, and the impatient man in the car behind me continued to flash his headlights. I inched my car as far to the right as I possibly could, sidling up to the curb. At the light, still red, I lowered my driver-side window with the push of a button on my door console.

With sarcastic exaggeration, I waved my left arm out the window in a gesture to permit the persistent driver in rear to pass me as the light changed. It did. He didn’t. Instead, he too sidled his car up to the curb, behind mine, and exited the vehicle. It was then I noticed the navy blue uniform he wore and the carbon-copy note pad he held.

“Is something wrong, officer?” I inquired when he approached my open window.

After requesting to see my driver’s license and vehicle registration, he answered, “Sixty-five in a thirty?” His inflection at the end couched his statement more as a question than a certainty.

Naïve me, never before pulled over by a traffic cop, hadn’t recognized the unmarked patrol car monitoring the curve and didn’t know better to keep my mouth shut. “Who, me?” I mirrored his questioning-like phrase with one of my own.

Officer Slug (that really was his name) never did appear at the court hearing, but I still had to pay a hefty fine for a moving violation and spend an entire Saturday at traffic school watching videos of simulated car crashes and filling in the blanks of multiple choice questions about driving hazards.

That incident taught me more than a lesson on traffic safety and the dangers of violating speed limits. As I think back on that story now, I wonder how often I am still going too fast. And I am not referring to my heavy-footed driving habits. How many days do I whiz through? “When we travel through life with speed, what’s closest to us becomes a blur,” I replied to a reader in a prior post. Does my good have a chance to catch up with me, or am I proceeding too quickly? Do I wave it on by while my focus remains on what’s ahead? Am I paying attention daily to what’s all around me in a single moment?

I must remember to slow down, be present in the Now. I also must remember that what I do affects others, like the careless drivers depicted in the crash films. And grace, that too, as I safely arrived at my intended destination.

By the way, I didn’t miss much as far as being late to meet my blind date. I never saw him again after that and don’t even remember his name.

Be enlightened!  ~ M