A Beacon of Hope

Emma slammed the door on her rusty Saturn Ion and drove down, down, down, through a puddle of slush and out of the parking garage. It had not been a good day, week or month. She tried the radio but soon gave up, unable to find a station without a crackle.

The city streets were clear enough, but the shoulders were piled with several days of snow. "And it's snowing again," Emma remarked to the overcast sky, while setting a pair of badly-worn wipers into motion. "I'm moving to Florida," she swore for the one hundredth time.

Traffic was crawling along the freeway and the temperature was dropping by the minute. The snow was falling heavier and what was left of the obscured sun was dropping below the horizon. By the time Emma got to her exit ramp, it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

"Only a mile away from a hot bath and a cold beer," she thought. "I can make it."

Tail lights appeared through the blinding snow. Big, bright tail lights, like beacons on a craggy shoreline. They were moving away -- in the correct direction -- leading her forward between the ditches. "Whoever is driving that car must be able to see better than I can," Emma thought. A warm blanket of calm swept over her. She felt safe.

The beacons moved sharply left. Emma faithfully steered in the same direction and her car came to a dead stop with the sound of crunching steel. Shaking her head, she looked up. There was a man standing beside her car. She paused to catch her breath, then rolled down the window.

"Why were you following me?" he demanded.

"Why did you stop so suddenly?" Emma asked.

"I'm in my garage, lady."