Chasing Madness
My son wanted to go to his friend’s house which is on the other side of the city. He doesn’t ask this favor very often so it’s a no-brainer. I grab Mr. Wright, figuring we can use the time out to run other errands, grab my purse and we head out. We drop Smerks at his friend’s, and Mr. Wright takes a back way out of the neighborhood. In front of us, a car drives off the side of the road. At first, we think he’s a teenager just screwing around, but he comes dangerously close to a few intense drops on that side of the road, and we’re shaking our heads wondering how this kid ever got hold of his parents’ car keys.
He acts weird when we get to the red stoplight, braking, lurching forward, braking again, like he’ not sure what he’s supposed to be doing. His head is lolled to the side as if he’s been drugged and he can’t hold it up. I frown and say, “I think something’s wrong with him.” Mr. Wright agrees. He makes the turn but turns into the outside lane of traffic, slamming into the cement meridian and losing control of the vehicle. Smoke and the acrid smell of burning rubber fill the space between our vehicles. Yep. The guy has definitely got something wrong with him. I grab my phone and dial 911. In my panic, I confess it takes a few seconds to figure out how to use my phone. I’ve never been good in a crisis situation.
The driver regains control of his car though I have NO idea how. I’m now shouting directions to the 911 dispatch officer while Mr. Wright gives pursuit. We chase him through the city. I have no idea what his destination might have been as he takes a rather circuitous route. He’s weaving all over the place, into oncoming traffic and all the way back to the other side of the road where cars are parked near businesses. At one point a truck on the side of the road opened his door and the driver appeared as though he was getting out. The drunk driver veered straight toward that open door.
It’s an awful thing to think you might be forced to watch someone die and be incapable of doing anything to stop it. Life passes before your eyes–not yours, but the stranger’s life–the faceless, nameless person who has no idea they’re in danger. Maybe it’s just because I’m a writer, but I imagine this stranger with a family, a wife, children, a dog. And I imagine him not coming home. I imagine school plays, graduations, and weddings never attended. And I can’t fix it. I can’t stop it. I can only watch and scream at dispatch to hurry the officers faster to us.
The drunk driver veered back into the wrong side of the road (where luckily, no one else was driving). The man in the truck lives and will likely never know.
He turns down one street, and onto another, zigging and zagging, his head always lolling in a way that feels maddening. Kids shoot out across the road on their bikes. You can see they timed the traffic so they know where they can shoot the gap. But they didn’t time for a driver like this guy. It’s like he’s trying to hit them as he follows them across lanes to the other side of the road. I think I scream. Babies. He’s going to kill a child–SOMEONE’S BABY. And we’re following so close, we’re going to get sucked into the wreckage. I send out a prayer while begging dispatch to hurry with the police. The driver somehow misses the kids. Seriously. I have no idea how. The driver finally stops at a red light and slumps over his steering wheel. I think maybe he’s passed out. I hope he’s passed out. He sits through the red light and when it turns green, he sits through that too. I’m more calm now as I update dispatch on our location.
When the light turns red again, he lifts his head as though not sure how he got there. Then he lurches into traffic even though his light is red, manages to not hit anything and disappears around the corner. I think we might have lost him. We can’t go through the red light too because hello??? Traffic! When we’re finally able to make the turn, there is a squad car up the road at the other light. Our drunk driver has made another left hand turn, but the police have spotted him and join the chase. They’re able to pull him over within a couple blocks.
Dispatch tells us to pull in behind the police and be ready to give an eyewitness statement. We watch as they take him through a battery of sobriety tests–all of which he appears to be failing epically. Obviously he’s arrested. We fill out our reports and we go home on an adrenaline high. I hug my kids a little tighter.
Today I found out the driver has a previous DUI with homicide. He’s already killed someone with his lolling head and his stupidity of getting behind the wheel when drunk. How does he still have a car after killing someone? How does his conscience allow him to be stupid all over again after already costing a life? I have no answers. The whole thing was madness.
So . . . anything exciting happen with everyone else?
