Lights Out

26 Jul

 

73-1

I had a strange experience. I was driving down Canoga Ave to the library on my lunch hour, on the way to return a couple of films: Must Love Dogs and Lawrence of Arabia. Driving along I hit a red light. I make a right turn and a car speeds across the intersection, cutting me off.

I hit the brakes and as the car pulls in front of me the driver flips me the bird.

I give it right back.

He flips me again.

Back to him.

He gestures for me to pull over.

I do.

So here I am, pulling over to the side of the road behind a pickup. Me in my mid-fifties, getting out of my car, ready for who knows what.  I notice the car’s got a rugby bumper sticker. The weird thing is, there isn’t a molecule of fear in me. I know what it’s like to be afraid – I’m not fearless. But getting ready to confront whoever gets out of that truck doesn’t scare me in the least.

He gets out – a weight lifter type with a shaved head, maybe in his 30s. He crowds within an inch of me, getting up in my grill, yelling all kinds of shit.

I can almost feel his first punch. Then the fight would begin in earnest.

I tell him, “Fuck you, I didn’t see you.”

Then something odd happens. I still can’t figure it out. He looks at me – I don’t know what he sees – maybe his parole officer over my shoulder. Maybe he sees the total absence of fear in my eyes and figures I’m dangerous. If he wanted to he could take me apart.

He backs away saying, “Sorry man…sorry I lost my temper.”

He hurries back to his truck and drives off.

I’m left standing alone.

Wondering what it’s all about, my not being afraid.

(2006)

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