Cruise Control

Someone suggested we all go get a drink after work to shake off the hectic week.  Usually, I hate these kinds of bars; national chain bar/restaurants you find in every single suburb of every single mid-sized American city.  I’m new to this job so I figure it’s a good idea to try and make nice with the co-workers.  So here I am.  It’s late afternoon on a Friday.  We pretty much have the entire place to ourselves.  We’re talking and joking about the kinds of things you can only joke about with the people you work with; clients, invoices, deadlines, the boss, etc. etc.

Suddenly, I get the distinct feeling that I’m being watched.  For the first few minutes, I try not to look around because I’m in a rather involved discussion with the woman sitting next to me and I don’t want to appear rude by looking all around the room.  Eventually though, curiosity gets the better of me and I start to casually glance around the room.  Low and behold I see that there is, in fact, someone staring at me.  Normally, I’m creeped out if I see someone staring at me.  This time, I’m not.  I feel strangely comforted by her gaze.           

She’s a mature, dignified, graceful looking woman in her late 60s.  She has shoulder length, shiny, wavy silver hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail.  Not one single hair is out of place.  Her white button down long sleeved shirt is starched and very clean.  She’s rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and she wears her collar turned up.  Her khaki capri pants are also neatly starched, with a crease running down the front and back.  Her Keds are so shiny and bright; they look as if she just took them out of the shoebox so she could wear them with this one particular outfit.  She has an air of royalty and wisdom.  She looks out of place.  I imagine she just had to have a glass of iced tea right that second and this just happened to be the first place she passed by on her way to somewhere else, somewhere better.

As she notices me looking back at her, she slowly stands up, walks over to me, stands to my left, puts her right hand on my shoulder, leans forward just a bit and, smiling, says to me, “You know dear, you have the kindest eyes.  Don’t ever let anyone make you believe that you’re not kind.”  I look back at her, dumbfounded.  I’m speechless.  My co-workers have stopped talking and they’re staring at her now too.  I imagine that happens a lot in her world.  People stop talking so they can listen.

Just like that, she walks out. 

“What the hell did she say to you?” laughs one of my more irritating co-workers.  “Nothing, nothing.” I say and smile weakly, trying to turn the attention away from myself.  Within a matter of seconds, the talk of the table returns to the boss’s bratty kids.  On the outside, I laugh and pretend to actually care about the story being told. But inside, I want to cry.

She turns the Audi onto the highway entrance ramp, accelerates to 75 M.P.H. and turns on cruise control.  She holds the steering wheel with one hand.  With the other, she takes out her voice recorder, pushes record and speaks deliberately without pausing. “Story idea…25ish year old young woman, overweight, a little frumpy looking, married too young and obviously regrets it, underlying hopelessness in her whole demeanor, feeling stuck in her dead end suburban life…..suddenly quits her job, leaves her nowhere town, leaves her unappreciative husband and…”

Police sirens blare loudly from out of nowhere.  She pushes stop on the recorder and looks in her rearview mirror.  The police car is directly behind her.  The officer motions her to pull over.  She does.  She turns off the ignition, rolls down her window, and takes her license from her purse.  The policeman stops at the rear of her car and makes a note of her license plate. She watches him in the mirror. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”             
“Good afternoon, officer.”
“Are you aware that our speed limit is 70 miles per hour?”
“No sir, I wasn’t.  I think I temporarily forgot what state I was in, to be honest.  I’m used to the speed limit being 75”, she smiles sincerely as she shrugs her shoulders.
He pauses, feeling calmer and more relaxed than he has for days.  “I see.”

He continues, “I’ll tell you what….I’ll let you go with a warning today if you agree to keep it under 70 for the rest of your drive through Tennessee.”
She smiles and extends her hand out the window, “Absolutely agreed, officer, thank you very much.”
They shake hands and he says “Drive safely ma’am, have a nice day.”
She waves goodbye.

She picks up her recorder and pushes record. “Revised story idea….30ish year old highway patrolman, rugged good looks, boy next door attitude pulls over the 25ish year old young woman and romance blossoms…” She starts the car and re-enters the highway.  She accelerates to 70 m.p.h. and turns on cruise control.