Drive

         I just needed to go for a drive.  It didn’t matter where I went; I just wanted to clear my thoughts.

         Her words echoed in my head as I gripped the steering wheel, fingers numb from the cold and head searing from the pain of a stress-induced headache: “I don’t think things will work out.”  Arguing, then,  “You’re going out…in this weather?  It’s a thunderstorm, not a little shower!  Do you have a death wish?”

         As the engine started with the turn of the key in the ignition, I paused.  Lightning flashed.  Should I go out, or was I just being as hardheaded as she always said I was?  It was probably my mule headedness that got me into this mess.  In response, my foot eased onto the gas, and I pulled out into a puddle at the end of the driveway.

         The roads were slick with the rain, sopping leaves shed onto the parkway making my trek ever more treacherous.  Every few seconds came a whip-like flash, followed almost simultaneously by the rumbling grumble of the crackling thunder, the sudden light illuminating my windshield wipers as they moved back and forth across the streaky pane of glass.  I could hardly see the stretch of road in front of my car, whether lit by my headlights or the lightning.

Finally, I turned onto the first exit I saw, not bothering to slow.  In hindsight, I should have, because that was when I ploughed into the wall.