It has been pouring rain here. Pouring isn't the right word; gushing rain is a better description. On Tuesday night I was driving back from an appointment in the middle of the storm. Visibility was terrible. Between the darkness, the heavy rain, and a jackass with his high-beams on I could hardly see the road. I slowed my speed to 15, squinting to see what was beyond my headlights while my wipers tried in vain to clear my windshield, when suddenly, a boy in a dark hoody and jeans ran across the road right in front of me!
I slammed on my brakes."Holy Sh**!" My van missed him by a couple of feet, but he just kept running, dashing toward the Aikido building, probably only thinking about getting to class and out of the rain. Did he even notice he almost got himself killed?
Oh my God, what if I'd been traveling faster? What if I didn't have new tires? What if he'd run into the street a few seconds later? What if I had hit him.
Then I got angry. It was a good thing he kept running or I might have gotten out of this car, grabbed him by the hair and screamed the fear of death into him. "You do not run into the street, you little sh**! I don't care if it's raining! What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Where the f*** are your parents?"
He was unhurt and now gone, so I drove home, shaking and cursing the idiocy of children. It took a good hour before I calmed down enough to stop visualizing that child lying in the street after I murdered him with my car.
Then I went into my daughter's room and hugged her tight. There's one blessing to her needing to use a walker to get around: she can't run into the street.