The clouds are scattered like popcorn for the sylphs to toss around and play with. In their joy, idle breezes are left in their wake. The air teases with my wet afro as I drive down the country road with the top down in my shiny new convertible.
The road dust shies away from the sparkling Candy Apple Red that radiates from the car in the dancing sunlight. It’s a good day, a lovely day. My three-year-old daughter is buckled in the front passenger seat, singing a nonsense three-year-old song and clapping along with unusual rhythm.
It’s a good day.
Flashing lights erupts from behind a large bush as I pass it. A siren wails just enough to catch my attention and silences itself. I realize I had been inattentive to my speed and just blew through a speed trap. Never had a speeding ticket in my life, and now I’m about to get my first one.
The 80’s model cruiser quickly caught up to me. The siren chirped one more time to remind me of the law enforcement’s presence. Dutifully, I indicate my intention to comply and pull off the road and the cruiser backs off my bumper to give me room to brake.
My daughter is one part chuckling about Mommy getting a ticket, and one part whimpering that Mommy is going to be arrested. I try to verbally soothe her while I keep my hands on the steering wheel. The officer is quickly out of his car and walks up to me in seconds.
I start to ask that tiresome cliche, “Something wrong, officer?”, but before I can finish, he drops his ticketbook into my lap. I instinctively catch it with both hands. As I look it over, I realize the information is already written out, I just need to sign the ticket. He had clocked me going 66mph in a 35mph zone. No way I’m talking myself out of this one.
Before I can look up at his face, he fixates my attention by holding a shiny black pen in front of my eyes. I manage to get a glance at his uniform. Khaki tan pants with a chocolate brown shirt. No gun belt. I take the pen, and sign my acknowledgement of the ticket.
As I hand the ticketbook back to him, he finally speaks. “Any questions?”
“No, Sir. I was speeding and you caught me. Nothing to ask or say.”
He addresses my daughter, “Do you have any questions?”
“Mister Officer, why don’t you have a gun?” She has lost her fear and is now curious about everything.
“Little girl, I’m so badass, I don’t need a gun.” The answer takes me by surprise and sends my daughter into a spiral of giggles. And yet, I don’t doubt him for a moment. He just has that Bad Ass Mother Fucker presence about him. It does intimidate me, but so far, I’m successful in hiding my nervousness.
“Continue on. Drive carefully.” He politely dismisses me and returns to his car. I wait until I hear his door close before turning over my convertible’s engine. My daughter is still giggling beside me, and I can’t help but join in the mirth. I would like to wait for him to pull away first, so I stall for time by looking over the ticket.
As I’m pondering how much of my budget will have to be rewritten, I realize, the ticket has no fine attached. Instead of marking the box for the fine to be applied, instead the officer has marked “Verbal Warning given, no fine”. Considering my speed, I’m surprised that he did so. I hand the paper to my daughter to hold and place the gear in Drive.
As I started to pull away (using my indicator, no less), I hear him following me back onto the road. I become nervous again, too busy watching him in the rear view mirror to note the upcoming stop sign. I see it almost too late and forcefully apply the brakes.
Of course, he knew of the stop sign long before I did, and had been gently slowing down the entire time. Just before I come to a complete stop, he turns on his lights and sirens again. I panic and hit the gas pedal, zooming me across the mercifully empty intersection.
I pull off the road once I clear the intersection. My nervousness and fear now fully gripping me in panic, it is all I can do to keep from melting into a pool of quivering tears. My daughter pats my arm to console me. “It’s okay, Mommy. He could see he scared you.” I’m embarrassed to have broken down in front of her. I am now quite sure I’m going to pay a fine for running the stop sign.
Instead, the officer pauses in the middle of the intersection. I see him clearly in the rear view mirror. He is watching me intently behind his oversize black sunglasses. I smile at him in the mirror, knowing somehow he is able to see me clearly. When he is sure that I’ve recovered from the panic, he speeds off down the side road, where in the distance I see a white sports car weaving dangerously, with a fleet of law enforcement cars in hot pursuit.
I look at my toddler and smile in encouragement. Then I realize. Three years old? My daughter just turned fourteen. I’m dreaming. I laugh to myself, put the convertible in Drive, and continue on down the country road, enjoying the lovely day.