It’s always intriguing to notice when people exist together in the same moment, but have polar opposite experiences. This reminds me of the man who hated taillights.
When I attended a meditation retreat on the Big Island of Hawaii, we took a field trip to the erupting volcano, Kilauea. Carpooling meant I found myself in the front seat of a rental car next to a stranger from California, Steve. Our group spent the day at the volcano and stayed until dark to witness the ethereal giant orange glow that mystically hovered above the 2000-degree caldera. Cheered by the spectacular display, I looked forward to a cozy ride home, pleasantly tired after hiking, satisfied with good food and astounded by Mother Nature at her most violent. There was something primeval about hunkering down in a secure place, as I imagined the car to be, immune from a tempest.
But I hadn’t figured on Steve, the taillight maniac. He drove fast on the winding country roads and I tried not to glance at the speedometer: fifty, sixty, seventy miles per hour. When the red lights of a car appeared in front of us, he sped to pass the car, even on curves. Fear sent my stomach lurching into my throat.
After gulping my stomach down a few times, I raised this sensitive issue with my typical doormat flattery, “My, you must have very good night vision. I always drive slower at night to make sure I can see everything.” A subtle hint, I thought.
“I hate red taillights in front of me,” Steve said with venom in his voice, a great surprise because all day he had been a quiet, mild-mannered guy. Apparently, taillights brought out the beast in him.
My tongue floundered because I knew the basic unspoken social agreement about driving: other cars shared the road, both behind and in front, the ones in front having red taillights that shone in my face at night. I found it awkward to diplomatically raise these points with Steve; my mouth would open and no sound came out, close, then open again, soundless. His giant pet peeve seemed pointless. Would he start a movement to ban all red taillights, substituting purple instead? Perhaps his doctor had ordered meditation class for this reason.
My sparse understanding of Steve’s idiosyncrasy was overcome by my continuing terror at his speed and recklessness, and my ongoing efforts to keep my dinner in place. No snug safety for me; nature’s fury sat beside me.
Yet, I attempted reason once again. “Isn’t it amazing how different two people can be? I lived in the Sierra mountains above 8,000 feet and I’ll tell you, in a bad snow storm with wind that caused a blinding white-out, I was overjoyed to find a car in front of me. Those red taillights came straight from heaven to lead me home. Over the years, I have come to love taillights, especially in low visibility areas like this, in the dark with the grayed out atmosphere caused by the volcano smog.” Understated hint again.
“Weird,” he said, whipping around another car to pass it at eighty-five miles per hour. He seemed unimpressed by my profound taillight revelations.
I had a great desire to get back to my little Bed and Breakfast room in one piece. Thus, I ratcheted up my efforts at survival. We would soon reach the small town of Naalehu where I would implement a plan: I could appeal to a higher authority. We hadn’t reached the God stage yet (as in begging, “Please, God, get me home”), so I tried the next best level. I casually asked Steve if he’d seen any police cars yet in Hawaii.
His eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. “Hmm, you know, I guess not. That’s kind of amazing. Can’t they afford much of a police force?” He sped on, double the posted speed signs.
“The police here are like undercover cops in plain-clothes. They don’t drive police cars; they use their own family car so they look like everyone else.”
Steve let his foot off the gas pedal causing such a sudden slow-down, my body jerked forward. “Really?” he asked, looking around.
We had approached the outskirts of Naalehu and I pointed. “Yeah, there’s one on your left.” Steve abruptly matched the speed limit. “You can tell by those small blue lights attached at the top. But, in the rear view mirror, those lights might look like a small carry-all rack or a blue surf board. “Hey, there’s one on our right.”
Steve craned his neck and crept below the speeds required in town. We were now in the center of the historic village.
“Well, look at that, a cop car just pulled in behind us. There’s a lot of them around when you know where to look,” I innocently said.
Steve sedately drove for the next serene hour, all the way back to the meditation center and I reveled in inner security, calm and safe. Perhaps he suffered from the taillights in front of us, experiencing the opposite of my serenity. It seemed like it was his turn since I had agonized over his excess speeds.
Real Life – Real Laughs:
Humor When You Need It Most
Cate Burns’ thirty-eight non-fiction stories of heartfelt humor explore society’s foibles and personal snafus with insightful zingers that will delight readers. Burns casts an unstinting, cock-eyed look at personal change, friendship, sanity and courage.
“Absolutely LOVE the descriptions in this work. Very, very, very clever and, dare I say it? -unique. This is refreshing, funny, inventive and delightful.” -Sharon Whitehill, Ph. D.
