The Road Less Traveled

But I had a cell phone. And a cell phone charger. And I had a credit card. And I had Scott.

The credit card would be for when I desperately had to stop driving. Due to lack of visibility, lack of gas, or lack of fortitude. Any one of them a distinct possibility.

But in the mean time, the phone was charging, the earpiece was affixed to my head, and I was chatting regularly with Scott.

Him: “Where are you now?”

Me: “Mile marker…umm...I don’t know.”

But my interest in appearing calm to him as he wrung his hands actually calmed me. I had no need to send him into a tailspin of panic. He was already pacing the floor. I did not want him to turn into John Boy Walton and heading out into the storm searching for me.

And I could only gain from remaining as calm as possible. Who wants a panic-stricken out of control nerveen for a girlfriend? And a little mind over matter might keep my otherwise pit-stained self from breaking into a full on flopsweat.

To be truthful, if I were not alone in my frozen little encapsulated toboggan to Hell, this would be kind of fun. Maybe even an adventure.

If say, Joy or Kate or Priscilla were with me, I could see it being a hoot! Just as irresponsible as me, they would find the fun in the disaster. Take a detour, find a hotel, check in, head to the bar. We can always go home tomorrow.

None of that is fun by yourself.

And neither is the notion that all the life and death decisions are yours to own. When I had cars on the road with me, I followed them to ensure I would stay on the road. And then I nearly followed one off the road into a ditch. And then another onto an exit ramp in God Only Knows Where. All the mistakes are mine to make.

Is that a good place to pull over and scrape ice off my car? Or will I get creamed by a Mack truck driven by a lunatic who hasn’t slept in 4 days courtesy of a jumbo roll of No-Doz?

Stopping to scape every 10 miles and calling Scott every 15 helped to pass the time and the miles themselves. Soon, but not soon enough, I was on the bridge to my home state. Familiar territory. I can get home from anywhere on this side of the river. The bridge was windy but dry. The route home more crowded and well lit than any other I’d been on all day or night.

I called the kids.

Lars answered. He’s not going in to work until later tomorrow. It’s bad out…can the kids just stay until morning?

My first reaction is to tell him no. I miss them. I want to kiss their little faces.

But I reconsider.

By all means yes. Momma needs a hot shower and a cold martini.