Last Sunday, it rained incredibly hard. Like scary hard. I was glad that I was inside, watching a DVD with Leah and her boyfriend, even though I felt like crap from my allergies. Then my cell phone rang; my pal A. was stuck at the Movie Store with a dead car. She had gone to a “young adults” get-together with people from our church (I had skipped b/c of my allergies) and the rain had started right when she realized her truck wasn’t going to move from her parking spot afterwards. So she had it towed to the mechanics across from the Movie Store.
I couldn’t leave her there – so I had to venture out in that awful weather. I was glad my car already had hail damage, because it would have gotten it that night. I had to blast my music to hear it over the loud rain, and I had to drive really slowly and look closer than I ever have to make sure I stayed in the lane. The rain was so deep in parts that I had to estimate where the lane markers were.
But the part that creeped me out the most was driving on Guadalupe near the Triangle. When I was in jr. high, three high school kids from my school died in a car accident right off of Guadalupe where a Triangle parking garage is now. They had gone off-campus for lunch and skidded off the road on the way back (probably rushing because they were late) and hit a tree, hard. The driver was a girl whose family Leah and I carpooled with, driving a Taurus that we had spent some time in that year. She died upon impact.
Now, I admit that I don’t think about those poor kids too often nowadays, but that Sunday night, that was all I had on my mind when I hit that stretch of road before 45th. I think I even muttered a quick prayer as I drove slowly by that spot.
But I made it to the Movie Store, where the nice clerk had let A. hang out and wait for the bus that never came by that night.