By Sarah Losardo
Cara dashed tears away from her face with the back of her hand, blinking hard in an attempt to see well enough to drive safely. Her twenty-year-old civic rattled a little at 70 miles per hour, but Cara was pretty sure it wasn’t anything serious. It certainly didn’t matter right now – all that mattered was getting home to Maryland to the side of her mother’s hospital bed. Cara miserably hunched over the steering wheel, oblivious to the bright sunshine outside, reflecting on how many months it had been since she had seen her mother.
FaceTime once a week doesn’t count, she told herself. Let’s see… last month I was in California; the month before it was Idaho, before that was Michigan – no, Wisconsin; Michigan was before. New York before that for a few months… it must have been at Elly’s wedding in April. Cara winced. And that was in Virginia so I only saw Mom a couple days. How could I have been so distant?
Cara continued to berate herself as she maneuvered around slower cars, oblivious to the needle of her speedometer moving toward higher numbers as her thoughts moved faster and faster.
WHOOP WHOOP! Cara glanced in her rearview mirror and saw blue and white lights coming up behind her. She glanced down at her speedometer and realized she was going 90 miles per hour. Her eyes widened, her face flushed, and her heart sank yet beat faster as she carefully pulled over toward the shoulder, one lane at a time, the police car following. She put the car in park and, trying to keep her hands from shaking, leaned over to rummage through her glove box for her car registration. Though she knew it was coming, she still jumped at the tap of the officer on the front passenger window. Hastily, Cara straightened back up, registration in hand, and hit the button to roll down the window. It stuck. Tears still rolling down her face, Cara jabbed the button again, but nothing happened. She hit the button for the back passenger window, and that one obligingly rolled down. She turned toward the officer – a middle aged man, neither skinny, fat, nor particularly muscular – and shrugged helplessly. Above the noise of the interstate she called, “That window is stuck!” The policeman gave a cursory glance over her car and looked at her through the window, his face softening slightly as he noted the age of the car and the tears on her face. He moved to the back window as cars continued to whiz by.
“Ma’am, my name is Officer Brown of the State Police. I must inform you that you are being recorded by my pocket camera. Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked in the drawl of the Deep South.
She nodded miserably. “Yes, but not until I heard your siren. I’m sorry, officer; I never go above 70 usually, but I was thinking about my mom and how I haven’t been home in so many months and now she’s in the hospital and if only I had been home to help her she wouldn’t have gotten a tack in her slipper or I would have noticed or something and she wouldn’t have gotten an infection and -”
The policeman held up his hand. “Ma’am, I can understand that there’s trouble at home. I still need your license and registration.”
Cara snapped her mouth closed, fished her wallet out of her purse, and leaned over to hand it to Officer Brown along with her registration. She had to rock back in place, unbuckle her seatbelt, and half sprawl between the two front seats to reach the back window. He took the documents back to the police car without further comment, and Cara sat in silence, fiddling with her purse strap. After what seemed an hour he came back. “Everything is in order, ma’am. I’m giving you a written warning today.“
Cara nodded and sprawled back over the seats to accept her documents.
“Next officer who catches you speeding will see what I had to put in the system and might nail you with a sizable fine, and we don’t want that. We sure as heck don’t want any accidents; but we want you to get home safe to your mamma. She got diabetes?”
Cara again nodded.
The officer returned the nod. “My mamma did too, God rest her soul. You get along, and know that my wife and I will be praying for your safe journey and for your mamma’s health. Don’t beat yourself up too much about not being home – it does no good – and keep the Lord in mind along with your speed; count your blessings if you can.”
He walked away, and Cara put away her license and car registration, flicked on her directional, waited until it was safe, then got back onto the interstate, the officer’s words echoing in her head.
Don’t beat yourself up… Keep the Lord in mind along with your speed… count your blessings if you can. She took a deep breath.
“God,” she said aloud, hating the quiver she heard in her voice, “God, I haven’t spoken to you much these last few years. And I hate to be the one who only talks to you when she’s in trouble, but here I am.” She settled into the middle lane and set her cruise control at 65 miles per hour. “If a complete stranger – and his wife! – can pray for me and for Mom, surely I can. We’ve had so many good times together, and she and I have been through so much together, and I thank You for that. Please, please, Lord, please help me get to Mom safely. Please help her get well, and help me to help her. Please help the doctors so Mom can keep her foot and not get sepsis. Oh, please, Lord, heal her. I want to be able to bring her to the beach again, like that time when we went and…”
The miles rolled by, and Cara continued speaking to God, taking comfort in the realization that she was not truly alone.
LogoSophia Magazine 