Road to Nowhere (Part 2)
I wasn't running from the cops, I just forgot to stay.
Everything is super-duper dark when you’re not passing actual towns or cities, and sometimes even when you are. The road we’re on is technically a freeway, but out there, it’s usually just two lanes each way, with occasional U-turn cutouts and no stoplights. Hella country.
While we were passing through Kingsville, I was kinda zoned out. Not because of the tiny bit of alcohol earlier — whatever buzz I had was long gone. I had already driven farther than I’d ever driven before, I’d been up since 6 a.m., it was late, it was dark. I was just kinda tired.
I was in the left lane, following the line painted on the left side of the road, using it as my guide. Don’t ever do that.
Enter: The Reflector From Hell.
One of those little reflectors sticking up outta the ground abruptly appeared directly in front of me. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the line I was following seamlessly turned into a U-turn lane. My brights weren’t on because a car had just passed. No streetlights.
I jerked the wheel to the right.
Reflex. Instinct. Panic.
To say we fishtailed would be an understatement. I have no idea how we didn’t flip. We were ALL over that road for a hot second. It felt like it was happening at the speed of Jell-O, but an out-of-control car that you’re behind the wheel of... is still an out-of-control car that you’re behind the wheel of.
By the time we landed, we were in this really wide grass median. The back of the car was facing the road we just came from. My headlights were spotlighting a traffic stop, in progress, on the other side of the road. The cop was at the driver’s window. Both of them were just... staring at us.
“FUCK!!! MASON, WHAT DO I DO?!”
I wasn’t scared of cops (yet). I just had no idea what the protocol was for when you’re in trouble for being perpendicular to the road, in a median, all because I didn’t wanna make a U-turn.
Mason, deadpan, still buzzed, casually said:
“Welp, dump the weed.”
Then added:
“Dude, I didn’t even spill my Dr. Pepper!”
The driver and the cop were still staring.
“MASON, WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!”
Maybe he’d come up with another answer. (He didn’t.)
I looked up. The car the cop had pulled over was slowly pulling away. The cop started walking toward us.
“Fuck! Ok, well maybe he’s just coming over to see if we need help, I’m just gonna see if I can go, and if I can go, I’m just gonna go. If they want us, they’ll pull us over.”
“Word,” Mason said.
I slowly pressed the gas while turning the wheel, and the car started to move. Normally, that would be a relief. But I was used to driving a four-cylinder roller skate. This was a beefy V8 Camaro.
So when it basically started to launch sideways, I slammed on the brakes, again out of reflex.
Mason: “What the fuck are you doing?”
Me: “MY FUCKING BEST, MASON!!!”
I started moving again, carefully this time. Maybe five minutes later, there’s one lonely streetlight up in the distance.
A car was idling beneath it. Centered. Still. Menacing.
“Is that a cop?”
“It’s somethin’,” Mason said, casual as ever.
I stayed in the right lane. Speed limit only. If they wanted to chase me, they’d have to lie about it.
As we got closer: yep. Texas State Trooper.
“Shamu,” I muttered.
A few years earlier, state troopers got these new cars with black sides and white hoods and trunks. My dad, who was a cop, said his friends made Shamu jokes constantly. (If you’re lost: Shamu was a famous orca from SeaWorld. This was before we knew how bad that was.)
“...Shamu?” Mason asked.
“State Troopers’ cars look like Shamu, but don’t say that to them, because they have bigger superiority complexes than most other cops.”
“Outstanding.”
Obviously, as soon as we passed him, he pulled onto the road and lit us up.
I pulled to the right, this time. A small win. I rolled my window down and waited.
That’s when the knock came. On Mason’s window.
And from my side: a deep voice.
“Ma’am, step outta the car, fer me, please.”
To be continued…