Beyond My Sight

(1013 words, 4-minute read)

Car lights photo by Mikita Yo @ www.pexels.com

Snow photo by Aaryan Jain @ www.pexels.com

On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha…

The first line of the song by Bob Seger “Turn the Page.” It has been rattling in my head for at least a week now. And it coincides with a crazy little trip to Denver I did last Friday.

In separate cars, Marcus and I had to drive down to Denver. We left at 5:30, well before it was light. My phone didn’t hook into the car, so I had no sound or navigation. That’s okay. I know where I am going. But I didn’t. With dirty headlights and the pre-dawn pitch-black skies, I couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me. The trip was going to be a very long drive.

Marcus had taken off before me like a bat out of hell, so I was alone. And I realized very quickly that I am not alone very often anymore. None of us are. And what I crave so much to have while in broad daylight was one of the most unsettling feelings I have had in a long time. But I can do this, and dawn will come…eventually. I figured if I could keep up with someone else in front of me through the badlands, then I could at least follow their actions.

This strategy worked until I hit a wall of snow. Well, it was more like the wall of snow hit me. I was a million miles away from everything on a dark, long, and lonesome highway east of Fairplay. The wind viciously whipped the snow from one side of the paved road to the opposite in a perfect horizontal fashion. Not only was I struggling to keep the car in my lane, but the visibility was down to inches.

The situation worsened when vehicles traveling in the opposite direction passed me. Then, the drifting snow lit up and gave the illusion of a white sheet covering the car. Several times, I slowed to a crawl but knew how dangerous it would be if someone came up behind me too quickly, so I forced myself to keep a steady speed.

Why didn’t I pull over?

Without any frame of reference, I couldn’t tell where I was. I knew deep ditches flanked the road on either side, and there wasn’t enough shoulder to pull off safely. I would be a sitting duck. I had to keep going. I knew if I could make it to the incline before Kenosha Pass, I would be sheltered against the wind (ironically, another Bob Seger song.) But I had no idea how far that was.

My phone chiming pierced the unbearable silence, “You have a call from Marcus Cell. Do you want to answer it?”

“Ah, no,” I snapped back.

Taking my white-knuckled hands off the steering wheel and my bugged-out eyes off the road wasn’t an option. Not being connected to the car’s system really sucked at this moment. How did we ever live without technology?

I used to love driving; it was a form of moving meditation. I used to go out for hours driving without being attached to the outside world. As long as I had gas in the tank, I was free and fearless enough to drive aimlessly through the back roads of Connecticut. But right here, right now, was another story.

I felt vulnerable because I was not in control of the situation. This led me to a slew of old resentments towards driving seven years in foul weather to go to a crappy retail job and then to the root fear of death.

Three things kept running through my head as I inched along the road. If I just make it to the hill, I will be safe. I can’t cry now because tears will blur my vision even more. And this was one of the top five dumbest things I have ever done in my life, and I have done some dumb things.

Tense minutes passed as I focused on moving forward. Somewhere along the line, I picked up a vehicle behind me. Typically, I hate people following me too closely, and I hoped they would pass me. I would slow down even more if they tried, but there was no attempt.

In front of me, I finally saw the large curve in the road, indicating that the hill was just beyond. I was so relieved because the wind died down, and I could see again. But I still had the car right behind me. Even with the passing lane available and me not being at the speed limit, the vehicle still followed me.

Now my brain switched from “I am alone out here, and it sucks” to “I am not alone, and what kind of fresh hell is this?” (I watch too many scary movies.)

I started running through all the pull-off spots at the top of the pass and calculated my speed and the space I needed to stop safely. I pulled off, and the car behind me did the same thing.

Shit! Just leave me alone! I screamed in my head.

I watched in the mirror as the driver opened the door and stepped out. Then the figure trotted towards my car. In an instant, I realized it was Marcus.

How the hell did he get behind me?

I tried to open my door, but the wind was still very powerful. He came around to the passenger side and slipped into the seat.

“I tried to call you,” he said.

“I know, the phone didn’t connect,” I said as I picked up the phone and shook it like a paperweight.

“You should have pulled over.”

“Where?! I knew I would be fine as soon as I got to the hill. And I thought you were already gone. How the hell did you get behind me?”

“I turned around. I was calling you to cancel the trip.”

“Well, we should keep going because I am sure as shit not going back that way in the dark. Now or ever.”