She Had to Gun It

"I had to gun it."

There it was, the phrase that always makes me put down the paper and focus on what she is actually saying.

Every so often my mother chooses to spend our phone conversation time dissecting the very treacherous traffic situation in Johnson County, Kansas. The most dangerous intersection in all the world is just blocks from her suburban home. Cleverly she avoids it, when possible. And she knows, because she spends an inordinate amount of time considering this, that the two intersections on either side of the danger zone are actually more deadly. The first because it is unexpected; everyone is busy preparing for the known entity yet to come, all energies focused on survival. The one immediately following is even more lethal as drivers are busy counting their blessings having just survived statistically the most treacherous stretch of roadway in the entire world. Three in a row, it's a real death trap.

My mother is not 97. Driving is not a skill sacrificed to old age; at 23, when my father risked life and limb, not to mention the safety of every commuter on earth, by teaching her to drive, she was a bad driver. That they stayed married for a full 18 years after that is the true marvel, divorce surely then an unavoidable casualty of the future. In high school she backed over my car, two weeks later I backed over my sister's bike.

Compounding the issue is that my mother feels that the good people of Johnson County have been brought together by danger, their sense of community really revealing itself as they all struggle to stay alive, or that is how she explains the honking that follows her everywhere she goes. Those beeps and blasts are offered in a congratulatory manner, and so she waves wildly from her window to let others know she appreciates their good wishes as she races past. If she could get names and addresses she'd write them thank you notes. Thank God she's too busy concentrating on the task at hand to yell out her gratitude.

"I had to gun it", let this be your warning.