But Did You Die?

This is a more recent tale.  I was grown.  And I thought it was to be my last day on Earth.

I have mentioned that I am an aggressive driver.  My woman, Angie, is also an aggressive driver, sometimes in ways that terrify me.

We were driving down a two lane country road with lots of soft curves and a forest of trees on either side of the road.  Right on the sides of the road.  There were no shoulders to speak of, and only a couple of feet of grass between the asphalt and the closest trees.  As a rarity, Angie was driving rather than me.  I don't remember why that might be, as I try to always be the one driving so that she does not have the opportunity to give me a heart attack.

We came up behind a little old lady in a Chevy Cavalier who obviously had no need to be anywhere anytime soon.  As we crept along at about 25 miles per hour, I knew what was going to happen.

I thought I knew what was going to happen.

Angie, exhibiting some of the patience she is known for, started to fume.  Angie fuming is never going to lead to good and happy things.  Pushed to her patience limit, Angie pulled into the other lane to pass the old lady, and accelerated.

And the old lady accelerated.

And Angie accelerated.

And the old lady accelerated.

And I thought I was going to die.  

But then it got worse.  I know what you're thinking.  We were in the wrong lane, surely we were staring at a car coming directly toward us.  It's only logical.  It's expected.  Except that is not what happened.

What did happen is that the old lady, now doing 45 next to us, also doing 45 miles per hour, both of our vehicles still accelerating, started to drift across the center line.  Sitting in the passenger seat, I saw the Chevy Cavalier inching closer and closer as we drove side by side at an ever increasing pace.  Angie saw it too, and scooched us over to the far left edge of the road.  Where there was no shoulder, and trees, lots of trees.

I started to lean over in my seat as we passed 60 miles per hour.  I know, that was silly and obviously not going to help.  Admit it, you would have done the same.  If my window had been down, I could have knocked on the window of the old lady's car.  I could see what color the old lady's eyes were (blue).  She could have seen the sweat beading on my forehead, if she were in any mood to acknowledge our existence by doing anything other than accelerating to try to prevent us from passing.  She never turned to look at us, not even once.

Angie kept accelerating.  What had been profanities became a constant stream of grunting, nearly growling, as she attempted to push the gas pedal through the floorboard of the car.  A glance at the speedometer told the terrifying story that we were now doing nearly 90 on a speed limit 55 mph road, the trees that lined both sides of the road now a blur of impending doom.

We started to pull ahead, the left tires of the car hanging halfway off the asphalt as Angie used every bit of road she had left to complete the pass.  As the old lady got closer and closer in her hellbent attempt to wipe us all out, we finally cleared the Cavalier and Angie got us back into the right lane and started to back off from the ridiculous speed we had gotten up to.

I'm sure my voice trembled when I asked her what she was thinking.  Angie's only response, "But did you die?"  This was not the last time I would hear those words from Angie, but that's another story.