He is at it again, tailgating although he calls it ‘I know what I’m doing.’ Hurling down the roadway at 140klm the last time I looked, with only a meter or two separating us from the red SUV in front of us.
“Need a little more space there, don’t you think?” I say between clenched teeth.
“Why’s that?”
And with that I know that whatever else I might say in way of recommendation, suggestion, friendly advice, will go unheeded.
“Just saying,” and I pretend a shrug.
“I know what I’m doing if that’s what you’re saying but not saying,” he says in a philosophical way.
I smirk to show him we are on the same side. But then I surprise myself with, “It’s not about you, it’s about me, if you really must know, and how about that guy in the red SUV? I mean, what’s to keep him from not slamming on his brakes? Ever think of that? How about that?”
When he turns to look at me, I grow wide-eyed, motioning to him to look straight ahead, and he says, “And why would he do something stupid like that? What he needs to do is go faster, or plan B, get out of the way. How about that? Look behind us.”
When he goes back to eyes on the road–the red SUV’s license plate forever embossed in my brain–I dare to look behind, and he is right, a line of cars has neatly stacked up behind us, all happily tailgating, all thinking this is the stuff of driving. “Ok, but until he does speed up maybe we could move to another lane. Slide over,” using both hands to show him how easy it is to slide. “Easy enough.”
“Why would I do that? He needs to get out of the way,” he says angrily, motioning to the red SUV.
“This is no time for ego, pride. Do us all a favor and move over.”
“Lah, lah, it’s all about respect,” back to looking at me again. “He needs to respect other drivers. Everybody knows this.”
“Yes, yes,” thinking that will send him back to looking straight ahead.
Meanwhile, the cars behind us, one after another, effortlessly, move into the next lane and roar by, making sure to give my friend a hard stare, as if, in some way, this is all his fault.
“Did you see that? See what they did? A simple slide to the right, not even a slide, a nudge,” my words coming out small and screechy.
“No sense of respect, this one,” he replies.
And if possible, he edges even closer to the red SUV, whose driver, by now, has not stopped staring into his rearview mirror, mouthing words. My throat is dry, and as I glance for help, there is no one there, only a new line of cars behind that have now decided to honk and flash their lights.
In the end, we exit and all tailgating and “I know what I am doing” disappear. We have almost arrived, making our way down a lazy side-street, when out of nowhere he slams on his brakes, lurching us forward.
“What? What?”
When he points, I see a brown-shirted man waiting to cross the street, or not. My friend motions for him to cross, and we both watch him consider it, looking both ways, even glancing at the treetops, before briskly crossing.
I stare at him until he says, “What?”
Because I don’t know where to start, how to point out the obvious, I simply say, “Nothing.”
He shakes his head. “Wish you’d make up your mind.”
