Blasting Beethoven

Blasting Beethoven
A true-life embarrassing moment 

         I'd awakened before the alarm, a migraine headache beginning to blur the edges of my vision.  I knew that if I was going to get my errands done, I'd have to get an early start.  Tim left for work at 6 am so I dressed, made my list, and cleaned the house.

         By 8 am the kids and I were on our way.  It was 10 am when we arrived at the grocery store, our last stop before going home.  A young man in a suit jacket entered beside us and politely pulled out a cart for me. He smiled at my thanks, picked up a basket, and continued through the door.  Without warning, he jumped, turned around in a hulking position, made a terrible face, and stuck out his tongue, displaying multiple piercings.

         Ten-year old Heather, always the quiet, brooding one, simply looked away.  Nathaniel, on the other hand, was much more outspoken than any four-year old should be.   

         "What kind of accident were you in?" he asked.  "Did your tongue fall off and the doctor had to put it back in with screws?"  His innocent voice echoed through entryway. 

         In the split second that followed I squeezed his hand as a warning to keep quiet.  I heard my six-year old daughter take a deep breath, ready to make a comment of her own.  Seeing my stern look she thought better of it and remained silent.

         The young man deflated like a balloon, disappointed his display hadn't created the shock wave he had hoped.  His shoulders drooped as he rolled his eyes, muttered something unrepeatable, and shuffled into the store.  I had already determined that if he turned right, I was going left.  My migraine was beginning to throb and I just wanted to get home without further incident.

         "He was weird,"  Heather commented as we picked out our groceries.  "Why did he show us his tongue?"

         "And why would you put all that stuff in your mouth?"  Fallon added.  "That's just gross."

         "Maybe he's like that lion in the story," Nathaniel suggested innocently.  "You know?  The one that gets the thorn in his paw and needs somebody to take it out?"

         I snickered at his remark and kept shopping.  Later I'd explain to them that some people like to get piercings or tatoos and it's their right and we should respect their choice even if we wouldn't do it to ourselves.  Right then, however, I only wanted to get home before my headache got worse.

         We passed the young man several times; to my relief he averted his eyes and continued on his way.  I wonder if he's embarrassed by his behavior, I thought, feeling slightly sorry for him.  It was such a silly thing to do.  I wonder what he was trying to prove...

         By the time we checked out, he was no where in sight.  As I pulled out at the light I noticed a car with dark windows coming up behind me, but didn't think anything of it.  Approaching the first intersection I saw the light change to yellow and slowed to a stop.  The car came up alongside me.  The pounding beat of the music coming from inside was so loud I couldn't tell if my migraine was playing tricks on me or if the car was actually vibrating to the beat.

         As we drove, the car stayed right beside me, the beat penetrating my thoughts and breaking my concentration.  If I slowed down, it slowed down.  If I sped up, it sped up.  I glanced over when I came to the next stoplight.  The darkened window was rolled down and I found myself looking into the angry, menacing face of the young man from the grocery store.  I'm not driving back to my house with him around, I thought.

         "What does he want, Mommy?" Heather asked; a quiver of fear in her voice.

         "I don't know baby, but we're not going to find out."  I tried to sound as confident as possible, but I was a bit unnerved.

         While we waited at the intersection for the light to change, the beat of his music turned to a raucous cacophony of screeching electric guitars combined with what sounded like an animal in terrible pain. 

         In an attempt to escape the noise and my pursuer, I pulled into another shopping area, drove around the lot, and exited again.  "He should be gone now," I assured the children.

         I hadn't gone but a block when I noticed the car sitting on the shoulder of the road with its flashers blinking.  As I passed, it pulled out and followed.

         At the next light the pounding beat and squealing guitars serenaded us once more.  I looked around at the reaction of other drivers.  Most were shaking their heads or rolling up their windows in an attempt to block out the sound.  As I pulled out from the light, a movement from the car beside me caught the corner of my eye.

         "Mommy!" Heather cried.  "He just made a very bad gesture at us."

         "Don't look at him."

         "I wasn't looking at him," she insisted.  "I was watching that lady walking her dog. But I saw what he did."

         "Don't worry, honey.  Ignore him."

         The music got louder at each stop light and I had finally had enough; I needed to do something to help block out the noise before it drove me crazy. 

         "Heather, pick a CD," I instructed.

         "Which one?"

         "It doesn't matter.  Anything we have in here will be better than that racket."

         She nodded her agreement as she randomly selected a disk and inserted it into the player.  I took a deep breath and hit the power button.  The soothing strains of Beethoven's 6th Symphony, Pastoral floated through the van, but they were quickly knocked aside by the rhythmic pounding from the neighboring car.

         "Turn it up, Mommy," Nathaniel said, raising his voice over the noise.

         I increased the volume, but so did the young man.  At the next light he glanced over and put his hand on his radio controls as if to challenge me. 

         "Kids, cover your ears," I said.  My head hurt so badly and I was so fed up with being antagonized that I rolled down the windows and cranked the volume of my stereo to the midway point. 

         The young man next to me pushed his volume control to its maximum level, crossed his arms and smirked haughtily.  The people in the surrounding cars shook their heads and glared at him.  I guess they didn't like his 'music' that much either.

         "Turn it up, Mommy," Nathaniel cried again.

         The rude young man in the dark-windowed car was unable to contain his shock and amazement when I boosted the volume to three-quarters and drowned out his noise.  What looked like an innocent minivan containing a defenseless mother and three young children was actually a powerful sound system on wheels. 

         I looked in my mirrors to see other drivers laughing, pointing, and clapping.  The light changed and I pulled away, decreasing the volume to a safe level.  The pounding noise had stopped but the dark-windowed car had darted into the line of traffic behind me and was following as closely as possible.

         I was frightened of going home, not wanting him to follow me so I pulled into a gas station I knew to be used as a police sub-station; he followed me. 

         I parked at the front door.  He parked behind me, blocking me in. 

         I made sure the doors were locked, then blew the horn and flashed the headlights until one of the officers ran from the building.

         The other driver squealed his tires all the way out of the parking lot and the officer jumped in his car to give chase.  A second officer rushed out.  "What's going on here?" he demanded.

         I explained the situation; when I got to the part about having a louder sound system, he laughed aloud and winked.  "Bet he was surprised, huh?  Not often you hear people driving around blasting Beethoven!"

         I blushed and he commended me for being alert and for not allowing myself to be followed home.

         I don't know if they ever caught up to the man in the dark-windowed car, but I've never seen him again.  Whenever we play classical music, though, my children say:

         "Remember the time you blasted Beethoven?" they ask.

         "Oh, yes.  I certainly do remember."

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