inevitable

{One}

Savanna

I hate this commute. I hate it so much some days I swear I'll quit my job just so I don't have to drive it anymore. Too much of my life is being wasted sitting behind this damn wheel. But the rational part of me knows it isn't so easy to quit a teaching job and find one in another school district. I don't want to move; I love my school and I adore my students.

If I had more money, I could live closer to the school. I could move into the city and find myself a saltbox studio. But the thought of living again in a college style dorm again is too hard to take at twenty-six, so every morning I get up, pour coffee into my travel mug, hop into my car, and take this damn commute.

My only consolation is the weeklong spring break that is coming up around the corner. A break I plan to spend watching Netflix and sipping wine. No driving during the break. No taking this damn daily commute until school resumes. I just needed to get through a little longer before a brief week of heavenly rest and relaxation can begin. Peace and quiet is so close, just within my reach.

I don't bother turning on the radio while I drive because the motor on this darn thing doesn't purr like a kitten--rather, the engine sputters and churns like a jackhammer. It's a classic Volkswagon Beetle, but "classic" in my world is code for "piece of crap." I can't afford to have it restored, so until the motor gives out, this is my ride.

The cars around me crawl along this stretch of the freeway. I'm in the fast lane, but ironically, at the moment, it's the slowest moving lane. My leg's getting sore from pushing the clutch constantly. Driving a stick shift in traffic sucks.

The line in front surges forward abruptly, and I follow the pack slowly, trying to avoid grinding my teeth with impatience. Over the roar of my engine, I hear an even louder motor. I check my rearview and side view mirrors and catch sight of a motorcycle in the distance, between my lane and the carpool lane, the source of the roaring engine.

Cycles are known to ride the lines in heavy traffic, and I always kept an eye open for them, knowing how dangerous that position can be. But this cycle is being more than just a little reckless.

I keep glancing back as it approaches my section of the freeway. The speed it's traveling is so intense I have to catch my breath. A feeling overcomes me out of nowhere, that sense of wrongness so strong it feels like a premonition. As the thought, This guy must have a death wish, slides across my mind, the cycle zooms past my car with a whoosh of air, causing it to vibrate.

Then it happens. The cycle swerves to avoid one car at the exact moment that another car veers into the next lane, and then...impact. I watch in horror as the car pushes the cycle into another car. The rider is thrown forward violently, hitting a windshield then bouncing off and flying over two other cars before landing out of my view. Silence follows the melee, and all the cars slow to a stop.

Watching this accident happen right in front of me is a shock to my system. I start to shake and take deep breaths, trying to calm down. Cars in front of me slowly crawl past the wreckage, but I find myself pulling into the next lane and then over against the median, where I bring my clunker to a stop.

I tell myself I have to help. It isn't in my nature to witness something like this and just roll past.

I stop my car and cautiously get out. There are already a few other drivers out of their cars. Several are on their phones calling emergency agencies, I guess, giving all the needed details. I carefully pick my way through broken glass and chunks of motorcycle until I finally find myself close to where the rider is lying on the ground.

He's flat on his back, unmoving. When I kneel down next to him, I am shocked to find a pair of open deep brown eyes, staring up into the sky through a cracked helmet shield.