The glaring headlights were growing bigger and bigger in my rearview mirror. With the dark, unfamiliar road ahead, slick from rain, compounded by the continuously increasing terror, I had no idea how to resolve or simply to bring a reasonable calm to this horrible situation.
But I did know one thing. This person, a total stranger to me, was enraged.
It never would’ve occurred to me that a basic drive home from a routine errand could lead to such horrendous fear, a powerlessness that had no apparent solution in my panicked state. But life can be unpredictable, with long periods of welcome peacefulness abruptly interrupted, setting life-threatening circumstances in motion due to decisions that had seemed so mild, so uncontroversial at the time. Yet somehow, in some horrifically hopeless way, they force raw vulnerability to the surface, confronting questions of survival, of whether it’s even possible when such fury is aroused to an obviously out-of-control level.
Earlier in the evening, I’d decided to find the closest hardware store from the gym so I could get a new battery for my garage door opener. It seemed like a logical plan, and I relied on my GPS to direct me. Beyond my established daily gym route, I really didn’t know the surrounding streets very well. So I followed the instrument’s instructions, winding my way through several busy roads that I’d never driven before, my windshield wipers constantly pushing away the streams of rain. Everything seemed quite normal, not out of the ordinary at all as I purchased a set of batteries and then began my trek home. But I never imagined I’d encounter an individual who would so aggressively transform a standard task into a traumatic situation in order to express excessive rage over such a minor interaction.
While following the GPS’s directions on the first leg of my trip home, I drove along a major road where two lanes merged into one. Due to the darkness, the continual raindrops, and my own unfamiliarity with this street, I hadn’t noticed any signs that warned about the multiple lanes combining in this way. Fortunately, since the GPS had informed me about a left turn ahead, I was already in the main lane, where I didn’t have to merge with the traffic. At the last second, though, a car quickly bolted beside me, blinker on, to get in front. I’d thought the lanes were still intact, however, not realizing this person had wanted me to yield due to the right lane’s imminent closure. With no one immediately behind me, there had been plenty of room for this driver to shift over.
Feeling confused and a bit disoriented, I drove a litttle faster to give this person extra space to move behind my car, only to be blasted by a loud horn in response. At this point, I’d realized the lanes had merged together and fully understood what that driver had demanded then. While continuing on this route, I rationalized to myself that I did have the right of way. My lane hadn’t been the one coming to an end, after all. Furthermore, if I’d known about the lane ending, I would’ve definitely been courteous and allowed this person to shift ahead of me. My split-second decision hadn’t been based on stirring any resentment, just momentary confusion.
After drawing that conclusion, finding this to be a simple misunderstanding, I followed the GPS’s instructions and moved into the left-turn lane without a second thought. At this time, however, I noticed that same car move directly behind me. The delay between my shift to this lane and that driver’s decision to follow generated immediate uneasiness, a warning that something didn’t feel right. So as I drove, I continually monitored that vehicle, its square headlights seeming to loom in an intense, fixated fashion. My nervousness grew as I noticed that no matter where I went, what turns I made, this car was locked behind me, almost as if it had become frighteningly attached to my bumper. And as I continued to listen to the GPS’s directions, I realized how we were both heading onto less populated roads, where fewer options for help would be available. Because my suburb is separated by miles of endless farmland, I felt a growing fear that I could wind up isolated with this newfound enemy, someone who possessed an obvious intent to cause me harm.
As I looked ahead of me at the road, soaked in rain and thick darkness, my terror escalated, laced with panic and increasing alarm. Even with other cars around, I felt alone, doomed to a fate I never would’ve pictured just a half hour earlier. I knew I couldn’t drive straight home, not with this threat trailing me, a person with bad intentions who would then know where I live. And since my garage door opener was temporarily inoperable, I’d be even more defenseless, unable to get inside immediately, with little time to open the front door, trapped and completely vulnerable to attack.
With the car still insistently following me, its headlights burning into my vision, blurring the road, magnifying my fears, I turned off the GPS and just kept driving. I didn’t know where I was heading, just that the world felt incredibly bleak and cold, indifferent to the terror that worsened with every passing second. My mind racing, I thought that I had just one option available to me. So with shaky hands, I lifted up my phone. Trembling, my fingers not hitting the right numbers, I tried to dial the police, but the call wouldn’t go through at first. Balancing the necessity to watch the road and to dial, I realized I’d hit the numerals ‘nine’ and ‘one’ twice by accident, initially hindering this call.
Once it finally went through, I had a precious lifeline.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m being followed,” I told the dispatcher, my voice on the verge of breaking into hysterical tears. “I accidentally cut off a driver on the road a little while back and now this person’s following me. They’ve been following me for miles and I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, now calm down. Take a deep breath.”
I tried to do as the dispatcher instructed, but my anxiety only seemed to deepen, to expand. “I didn’t mean to cut him off, him or her, I don’t know if the driver’s a man or a woman, but I didn’t mean to make them angry -“
“Okay, you’ve already mentioned that. I want you to take a deep breath,” the voice replied in an even, very tranquil tone. “Do you know what street you’re on right now?”
“No, I don’t know where I am. I’m just driving and the person’s still behind me. No matter where I go, that driver’s following me!”
“Okay, now. Breathe. Can you see any cross streets?”
As I approached a stop sign, now in a residential neighborhood, I reported the names of the streets. “I’m at the corner of Wilson and Endicott,” I said.
“What’s the make and the model of your car?”
I described my Honda Civic, realizing that my car was much smaller in size than the stranger’s vehicle. Based on the width of those antagonizing headlights, I knew my tiny car would not be any match for that larger sedan. And even though I had guidance now, no longer forced to figure this out alone anymore, the helplessness persisted, especially as we were in a more isolated area.
When I came to a halt at the stop sign, partially covered by tree branches, the vehicle stopped with me, then followed behind again. It seemed to be even closer than before, as if inching to overtake my little vehicle. In the darkness, which looked even denser without as many streetlights, I could tell we were nearing the end of the road.
“It looks like the street ends here,” I told the dispatcher. “I have to take a left or a right.”
“Okay. What’s that street’s name? I’m getting an officer out there right now.”
“Wance,” I told him after studying the sign, higher up on a solitary pole.
“Okay, take a right on Wance,” the dispatcher instructed.
And it was here, at this moment, that relief, a most welcome gratitude and immense thankfulness, filled me as the car that had trailed me for what felt like an endless amount of miles, drove in the opposite direction.
“The car turned,” I said, feeling joy rise in my voice. “That person turned left just now. They’re gone!”
I don’t remember what the dispatcher said in immediate response. My elation had become so powerful, so overwhelming, that I couldn’t absorb his words. But I suddenly felt as if I had a brand new lease on life, another precious chance to appreciate being alive, of not being afraid, even though I had no idea where I was anymore.
A few minutes later, though, in his calm, logical voice, the dispatcher did ask if I knew how to get home. He also offered to have an officer speak with me, either in person or via the telephone. So despite being lost and still quite overwhelmed, I felt a distinct joyfulness at the knowledge that I hadn’t really been alone, that a stranger did care about the trauma I’d just experienced. In a sense, the dispatcher’s questions almost canceled out the horror of that driver’s despicable behavior, the evident desire to hurt me over such a mild incident on the road.
When I reached my home, feeling safe to unlock the front door and open the garage to bring my car inside, the happiness remained, now more appreciative than before. Even in the darkness, everything seemed brighter, infused with wonderful possibilities, a hope that I’d taken for granted, which now shone with such beautiful exuberance. My cat Juniper met me at the door and, to his surprise, I gave him the biggest hug, pressing my face against his with a lovely lightness in my heart.
I never would’ve imagined that an encounter with pure rage would enable me to feel such enormous gratitude, that the experience could deepen my thankfulness for life, for second chances. But this person’s intense fury actually opened my eyes, accentuating the precious nature of life so I could understand its gift with much greater depth. I hope that I never go through such trauma again. But I can now see the value of such an enraged state, how it shattters the tendency to take existence for granted, replacing that mindset with the most amazing gratitude I’ve ever known. And for that awareness, despite the necessarily horrific journey that needed to unfold, I am incredibly grateful.