Traffic Rush

May 3, 2009
By Emily Pielemeier BRONZE, Carmel, Indiana
Emily Pielemeier BRONZE, Carmel, Indiana
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

My grey Suburban sped through the yellow light just before it turned red. I had made it. What a relief. Even as I thought that, my toe pressed harder on the accelerator. The needle slowly crept to the right of the dial. Forty-five miles per hour, sixty.
I prayed to make it on time. I had to. As I finished making Christ’s cross to seal my prayer I almost ran into another car. At the last minute I swerved into the other lane.
The almost-victim noticed. I could see his mouth moving and I wished I hadn’t learned to read lips. He made a rude gesture. Shuddering, I accelerated and he was out of view.
I raced my car faster, faster, always on the lookout for policemen. There, over in the trees. One was there. I immediately slowed down, the needle moving from seventy-six miles per hour down to thirty-eight.
As I neared the police officer’s hiding place, I passed a sign that read the speed limit was thirty-five. I slowed the three extra miles per hour for good measure, but only to further my appearance of complete innocence.
I pasted a cheery smile on my face as my chunk of metal crept closer to the police officer. I hoped I wasn’t overdoing it.
Sweating, I loosened my tie. Come on, I thought. Come on.. Hurry up, you big bucket of bolts. Get me to work on time. I checked my watch. Six forty-eight. Or I’ll skip your monthly polishing.
I passed the hidden officer with my eyes glued to the road. Yes, officer, I’m just an innocent little rule-follower loving life, I think as sweetly as a viper. Now leave me alone or I’ll bite.
The officer stayed where he was, and I let out a whoosh of breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I turned the corner and started speeding up again. At this rate I knew I’d make it, and soon I started to whistle. I checked my rearview mirror as the needle started to climb sixty… seventy… ninety. The rearview mirror… cop! That damn cop is tailing me, and I’m going sixty miles per hour over the speed limit. Shoot!
As if the officer had seen me look in my mirror, he turned his siren on.
Focusing my eyes on the road, I turned into the parking lot and looked back at the cop. He was just turning in. My head swerved back to the front less than a second before my beautiful car crashed over the side of the street and into the building called “work”. The air bags released, and right before I lost unconsciousness I saw the time on my watch. Seven o’ clock; I was right on time. Oh, the irony, I thought, my eyes drifting closed.

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