Bohemia Village Voice

A Fine Line

She was on her way to work, driving through the autumnal lanes, listening and joyfully humming to radio tunes.
The sun was filtering through the almost bare trees, the road awash with damp leaves from the storm of the previous night. ‘It has been a great autumn’, she thought, the array of spectacular coloured leaves had remained for a time longer than usual.
No blustery storms as in previous years. Autumn, such a beautiful season, especially with balmy days, not yet really cold, the sun gently mocking. It was quite perfect. ‘Was the warmth due to climate change?’ she mused as she changed gear to slow the car down. Not that she was going fast, only that there was a car yonder down the slight hill and the lane seemed to be narrowing.
She put her foot upon the brake but instead of the car coming to a halt, instead, it seemed to have a mind of its own, and almost majestically danced, slithered, without control, unable to stop. It was as if this always reliable machine had come to shout out, deny any master, defy all management.
She tried to control the dance, twisting, turning the steering wheel, pumping the brake, trying, praying for the car to stop. The hedgerows on either side of the lane were high and she tried to manipulate the car into their side, to stop the uncontrollable runaway.
She had a flash thought of her son, how untethered he had become, out late most nights, not yet found work (but didn’t seem to be looking either) and the constant tension there was between them. How very different he had become in his teen years, how very easy it was when he was a child. But she loved him, his boyish charm, wit and intelligence and how very much she wanted to see him now, instead of slithering like a slippery snake.
It was inevitable her crashing into the other car. It was the only way to stop. The impact was quick, loud, with a grinding of metal upon metal. She was thrown forward into the steering wheel yet her only thought was that of the other driver. She loosened her seat belt and leapt out of the car, in a frenzy, crazy with worry that she, her! may have killed someone.
The thought was perilous and in an instant her life changed. That fine line of being content with the world to a lifetime of guilt. She had tried to stop, was it her brakes? Yet she had only just had them changed at the last service, new pads and whatdoyoucallits all those things that mechanics do. And new tyres, only changed days before. Why had she glided like an ice-skater?
She couldn’t reach the other driver’s door as the impact of the cars had created a mangle of metal, blocking access. The two cars straddled across the lane. ‘Please God’ she prayed as she assessed the best way to reach the driver. She started climbing over the hedgerow, adrenaline flowing when suddenly the rear door opened and a young woman climbed out.
“Is the driver okay?” she screamed at the girl.
She called her son even before the police. He came and took over the situation, handling the road, putting up hazard signs, calling recovery. He held her close, wrapped his arms around her, and despite being dazed and couldn’t stop shaking, was thankful, oh so thankful, that the other driver, a mother too, with her daughter in the car were fine.
And she was fine, they were fine as she unwrapped herself from her son’s arms.