The Next Sound You Hear

 The words of advice my younger brother gave my son when he became a driver were based on his years of experience navigating the streets of Los Angeles: Avoid Impact.

Not a revelation, necessarily, but a nice bit of wisdom to pass along to the younger generation. For a hot second way back when I was in my teens, I couldn't seem to pull out of the driveway without bumping into someone or something. For my efforts, I was rewarded with a suspended license, and a chance to reconsider my place in the world of wheels. I rode my bike to school for the first six months of my senior year and my car sat still, which was probably a good thing considering my nascent skills as a driver and the fact that I owned a '72 Vega. 

When all was said and done, I had graduated to a new reality more in line with the words my younger brother would eventually speak to my son. And it was those words upon which I found myself reflecting as I motored about town, running errands. I do not drive a lot, since after all these years I still find myself perfectly happy with my bicycle commute to and from work. If I go anywhere, it is most often with my wife or son who are much more inclined to insist on piloting. 

Fine. 

But every so often I do find myself behind the wheel and I wonder just what sort of odds are keeping us all from colliding with one another in those shiny metal boxes Sting used to sing about. I'm on my way to Safeway, and darned if I didn't witness a near-miss at the stoplight coming down the off ramp. Hear the squeal of the tires and breaks, wait for the sound of breaking glass. Nope. Impact avoided. Everyone breathes out, the light changes and pulse rates return, eventually, to normal. 

Six blocks away, at another intersection, another motorist was not as fortunate. His car's crumpled front end sat derelict in the middle of the street, impeding traffic flow. My eyes searched for a nearby matching vehicle with crumpled bits that would complete the puzzle. Then the light changed and I moved along without solving the puzzle, but not wanting to be part of yet another problem. 

After I made my summertime purchases of canned lemonade and lunchmeat, I took a different way home. It's not safe out there. 

Never has been.