On the road

We were coming home from Massachussetts on 684 last night -- raging at the usual morons with access to a gas pedal -- tailgating at 90 miles an hour; weaving in and out of the traffic as though they were actually skilled and masterful; and cursing at the usual 200-ton SUV's with their obnoxious, blinding brights on. As usual, we were enraged by the mania, ignorance and sheer incivility on display that was nothing less than the Bush era, manifested at that moment as ultimate rudeness on the road, at super high speed, amid the very real risk of life and death. And then it hit us. Almost. The car in front stopped. Just stopped, for no reason whatsoever and within a nanosecond, we were all screaming as, in slow motion, we plunged forward towards the rear of those terrifying red brake lights. I glanced in the mirror and saw that there were no options -- the car behind was gaining fast and the lanes to each side of us offered the same view. I cringed and waited for the massive impact in front and back and thought of the three children, jammed in the back, and saw our car concertina'd on the road in one those very real, utterly nightmarish moments flashed by. So this is it, I thought. This is how it happens. Just like that. It's all about stupidity. Nothing more or less. And so avoidable.

It didn't. We swerved out of the mess and we were beyond shaken by the near-miss. Later that evening we passed a car turned upside down on 106th street, in a sea of broken glass on the road. As we hustled to get by the rubbernecking, I couldn't help noticing the person, upside down in the front seat and the circle of cops, gathered around it. My heart sank and raged simultaneously as we drove away from whatever disaster some family had to deal with last night.

This morning I ran around the NYC reservoir and saw the light reflected off the water, and the golden treetops shimmering in the slight breeze with the Manhattan skyline, a hazy backdrop to it all. I picked up the pace, breathed in the air as deeply as I could and only one thought came in, loud and clear. We are alive. Saved by inches, but alive.