Loose Leaf Notes

Today I got an escort while driving down Woods Gap Road by a young deer that didn’t know any better. Acting more like a rabbit, and not that much bigger than a large one, it zigzagged on the road before settling down onto a straight path directly in front of my car. I figured it was so young that maybe it hadn’t seen a car before. I was glad I had avoided hitting it.
After the fawn finally ducked back into the woods, I passed by the house that belonged to the family whose car I did hit, once. This is more the point of the story and a one I’ve been thinking about since Michele posed the question weeks ago on her blog: “What are your driving pet peeves?”
A few years ago, I was coming home from town in my old Honda Accord, driving behind an even older car that was traveling at a snail’s pace. We were about to approach a house where some new folks were moving in. The man driving in front of me was oddly placed, sitting on the right side of his car. Maybe he was a postman or had a car from Europe where the steering wheel is on the right side.
There was no blinker signaling a left turn, but the car began to veer left, heading for a mailbox, I thought. Many people out here in the country drive up to their mailboxes to collect their mail. I pulled up to pass on the right, anxious to be rid of the pokey driver (I know it’s against the law, but he was going so slow and the laws on Floyd’s back roads are hardly adhered to). Suddenly, the car made a wide turn to the right. It was too late. I hit it.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I got out of my car to see the damage I had done. I was shocked when I saw a skinny young boy, not more than 9 years old, open the door on the right side of the car I had just hit. Where did he come from? It took a few seconds to register that he had obviously been the one driving and was too small to be seen from behind. (I told you the laws governing country road driving are loose.)
I lost a hub cap, and the boy’s mother came out and yelled at him. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t yell at the man who let him drive(not the postman or from England). The dent I caused was minor and even if it wasn’t what were they going to do, call the police and report that their 9 year old boy was driving?
To this day, I pass by the scene of the accident almost on a daily basis. It’s just part of my route to town. I can’t help but look for the boy (and my hubcap). Sometimes he’s out in the yard. For some reason, we don’t wave, but I can’t help but notice that he’s much taller these days. Moral: Don’t always believe what you see.
Post Note: I was reminded by a reader that today is Friday the 13th. Sean at http://seans.typad.com asks: Are you triskaidekaphobic? Thanks for the vocabulary lesson, Sean.