This is the Bermuda Triangle that is My Life

I saw the light turn from green to yellow as I sped down the street. Can I make it? I wondered, Can’t afford not to. The signal turn from yellow to red as I dashed through the intersection. Five seconds later I saw the lights on the roof of the car behind me turn from clear to blue and red.

I pulled over into the first available parking lot. After rolling down the window down and I started to dig through my glove box for my insurance card. Three dozen napkins, from a six different fast food places but no registration to give the cop. Shit, maybe it’s in the center console. I went to open it, and it was sealed shut. I pounded on it, once, twice, three times and it came open with a plastic cracking sound. That’s new, I thought.

“License and registration, sir.” I heard a female voice say.

“Yes, sorry, one second,” I turned my attention from the wire and cigarette filled consol to the officer of the law. I read the name tag, Henshaw. I looked up to see a familiar face in the officer’s uniform.

“Emma?” I asked.

She looked at me confused, then a glance of recognition circled her face. “Ricky? From Sierra Pass High?”

“Yeah, holy shit, what are you doing in Atlanta?” I asked.

“I’m a cop,” She said gesturing at the golden shield on her chest. “What are you doing?”

“I moved here three weeks ago. Still trying to get my shit together.” I gestured at the console and glovebox that was left open. “Let me grab my license. My insurance is around here too I promise.” I dug out my wallet from my back pocket hoping it hadn’t disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle that was my life.

I slipped the Colorado license out of the clear pocket where it lived. I flashed Emma the best smile I could. Was she still mad at me for dumping her at prom? Probably not. She grabbed the license and said “I’ll go ahead and run this. See what you can do about the whole insurance situation while I’m gone.” She gave me a smile that didn’t run very deep.

No Progress on the Insurance Card Front

“Any luck?” She asked unimpressed by the pile of empty cigarette cartons that were now taking up the passenger seat.

I put my hands up in a cartoon shrug. “Sorry, I think it got lost in the move. Is there any way we can get around it?”

She scanned the car up and down. The tan Jeep Grand Cherokee I called Lilly hadn’t explored the past five years of her life very well. The cross-country trip to get from Colorado to Atlanta wasn’t the best thing for it. She was on her last legs.

“I’m giving you a ticket Ricky,” she said, “You ran a red light going fifteen over. You don’t seem to have a medical emergency on your hands so here’s we will do to get around the insurance bit. I’ll write you an additional ticket for lack of registration, and if you have insurance, and god I hope you do on this piece of shit, then you can take it down to the courthouse to prove it. They will waive the ticket for you, after charging a twenty-five dollar court fee.”

“Twenty-five dollars, just because I don’t have my registration on me.”

“Well it might be a little more, I don’t keep up with it.” She shrugged. “I’ll go fill out the paperwork.”

“Wait, hold on, Emma, come on.” I hoped it didn’t sound like a whine, “Isn’t there anything I can do? Like, come on what are the chances that we would run into each other on the other side of the country. And you can’t call Lilly a piece of shit. We had some good times in her back in high school.” I put on my best smile.

“It is quite serendipitous that I finally got around to pulling you over. Honestly, I feel like if anyone else had pulled you over today, they would have let you go. I’m sure you would have pulled some story about being on the way to an important business meeting, or a relative’s funeral or something equally unrealistic.”

“It was a studio recording,” I gestured to the guitar case that took up most of the back seat. “Hoping to put out my first album in a month or two.”

“Of course it’s something that absurd. I can’t believe you’re still doing that. Did you even get around to going to college?” She scoffed and continued. “Regardless, today’s my lucky day. You’re not going to get to talk your way out of your ticket today.”

“Wait are you still salty about high school?”

She laughed, “You mean how you dumped me at prom because you felt like the music was calling you to do something else” she used air quotes around what I could neither confirm or deny were my words.

“Em, that was high school, I was probably high or something.”

“Are you high right now?” She asked giving me a look down her nose.

I opened my mouth about to give an honest answer and closed it. I began again by saying, “Look, just write me the ticket. I’m sorry this reunion didn’t go any better, and I’m sorry I didn’t treat you any better. I really should have done a lot of stuff different back then, but I was young. You did alright for yourself. You’ve got a solid job. You’re doing better than me. Write me the tickets. I’m sorry I ran the light and the other stuff.”

She turned around and went back to her car. I watched the lights switch between blue and red for a few moments.  In a few months a twenty-five dollar ticket will be the least of my struggles.

I thought through the logistics trying to reassure myself. There’s no reason to sweat this, the studio will still be open if I’m a few minutes late. I looked at the clock in my car it read 5:36. Looking at the GPS on my phone, I saw a quote that had me arriving at 6:02. They’ll stay open for the next Elvis Presley. I’m sure of it.

Home Free Again

Emma returned to the car and handed a small clipboard through the open window. “Can you sign this to acknowledge that you received the ticket.” She said in a dry voice.

I signed on the thin black line at the bottom of the page and handed the clipboard back. “Can I get the pen too?” She asked.

I handed it to her, trading it for a slip of paper. I feel like a native trading a mass of land for a single bead.

“I’m only giving you the speeding ticket. But make sure you get the car insured ASAP. You should also probably change your registration and license to reflect your current Atlanta address. But just don’t miss your court date.”

“Thanks, Emmy,” I said with a simple smile. “Say, do you want to get dinner sometime?”

“No Richard, I don’t. Now get out of here before you give me a reason to change my mind.” She said with a wave of her hand before she turned around and got into the cop car. The lights shut off and I dragged Lilly into gear.