Yesterday, I read this heartbreaking post by Mamacita. Go read it, I’ll wait.

After work, I was on my way to get my son. I was driving down a street I drive every day, often several times a day. I was thinking about her post, and how our grocery stores all have these huge parking lots and are set way back from the street so it was unlikely that we would ever witness such a horrid thing (really, this is how my geeky mind works, I get hung up on details.)

A woman driving a Cherokee ran her stop sign. She was only a girl, actually. My road did not have a stop sign, maybe she thought it did. Maybe the setting sun was in her eyes and she didn’t see me coming. I don’t know.

There was much tire screeching. I had an instant where stupid thoughts flashed through my mind:

– A civic is no match for a cherokee, even at low speeds (I was going 30 or so, she was just punching the accelerator as college kids do when they leave a stop sign).

– A 15 year old car with well over 100,000 miles won’t get much from the insurance company, even totalled. And we can’t afford another car payment.

– Please don’t hit me.

After the smoke from our tires cleared, I saw that her front bumper was six inches or so from the side of my car. I could have reached out my window and easily touched her car. But I couldn’t let go of the steering wheel, I couldn’t even turn my head and look her in the eye.

She backed up. I drove on. I heard her call out “I’m sorry” and she turned and followed me for about a block but then gave up. I couldn’t have talked with her anyway.

Late last night, we’re in bed, I’m holding my wife. I tell her about this. She asked if I could tell a difference, that I didn’t want to go yet. “I hit the brakes, didn’t I?”