Yesterday morning, no more than two miles onto I-10, Grace panicked.
“Mom, there a truck right behind us. With red and blue flashing lights. This can’t be good.”
Indeed, I’d already spied said vehicle in my rearview mirror. Given that the speed limit was 65 and I was going 54, I briefly wondered if I was actually about to be cited for driving too slowly. Because that sort of scenario would be about right in my world on a Tuesday morning.
As I pulled onto the shoulder, Henry whipped his head around and declared, as though I were pulling over just for the fun of it, “Mom, there’s a cop behind you.”
“He’s a police officer, Henry. And, yes, I’m aware. Thank you.”
Extraordinarily concerned about his mother, Henry then professed, “Great. Mom’s going to go to jail. This is REALLY going to mess up my morning!”
As the officer approached the front right side window, Grace (who occupied the front passenger seat) adopted her “I don’t know what the right thing to do here is, so I’ll just turn into a statue” stance and simply stared straight ahead. Never moved. Never blinked. Never said a word.
Henry communicated his disgust with my impending arrest to George, who simply responded, never once looking up from his project, “Whatever. I’m writing a book.”
As it turned out, I was following the truck in front of me too closely. It’s true; I was. Because he was going 54 in a 65 mph zone. But it wasn’t terribly safe, and I was grateful for the reminder not only that I should keep more distance between myself and the car in front of me but also that the Driver’s Ed class in which I learned how many feet are supposed to be between myself and the car in front of me transpired a long time ago.
Like, when the officer said, “Do you remember from Driver’s Ed how many feet are supposed to be between you and the car in front of you?” my response was an astonished, “Really?”
That went over well.
As he sat in his vehicle checking my license and registration to ensure that I’m a legal citizen etc. (we are in Arizona, after all), Jack spoke up for the first time.
“Does he know who you are?”
Nope. Never met him.
“No, I mean does he know that you’re a famous author?”
I have never loved Jack more.
“Um, I don’t think so, no. He’s not exactly my target demographic from a reading standpoint. But somehow, by the end of this transaction, if Henry has any hand whatsoever in it, I’ve no doubt that this poor guy may very well know more about me than he ever wanted to know.”
As he presented me with my official warning, he asked Grace — who was still staring stoically out the front window with a Pottery Barn Teen catalog in her lap — what she was reading.
“Nothing,” she responded so quietly that I had to repeat it for him.
So there you have it.
Now, who knows how many feet should be between you and the person in front of you?
***
If you haven’t already, please check out the video in the sidebar about our project to raise enough money to provide 1,250 people in Africa with clean, safe drinking water through charity: water by Christmas, and consider the opportunity to contribute!
*Photo courtesy of Tome213
