Overanalyzing grammar

The road sign said “Caution: Water on road.”

To me, that means you can drive, just watch your ass. After about 10 minutes, I felt it meant otherwise.

I was driving about 45 miles per hour in the pitch blackness of Jones County, North Carolina. Not much is there when it’s light out. But tonight, after 20 inches of rain, there’s even less.

Blackness is what stands out the most. Occasionally, there’s a sliver of light reflecting off the ground. Or what should be the ground. Instead, it’s water. A lot of water. And that’s actually what’s making it even blacker out here than it normally would be. The black is reflecting off of the water, making it darker. If that’s possible.

After a bit, in the headlights you see movement. It’s where the road should be. Instead, it’s a flow. There’s a river going west to east across the asphalt. It looks about a foot deep. Which means it is probably much deeper. A couple of trucks about a ¼ of a mile ahead of me slow to a crawl and hit the water. Sending a huge cascade of waves my way. It’s interesting. I’ve never felt a wake inside of a car. Tonight, it will become a normal thing.

On the side of the road are trucks, cars and people. Either there is really ill-timed party going on out here, or people are quitting.

“I slow down and get behind a car and the two trucks. There seems to be some hesitation here. My feeling is “just go for it. Whatever happens, happens.”

Apparently, they feel the same as we trudge on.

This river across the road is different than the others. It’s faster. It’s higher. And on both sides, there is nothing but more water, seemingly higher than the road and me. I know this is some kind of optical illusion brought about by all this water and the headlights of a few cars and the pitch blackness of everything else. But it still makes me think of the four people who died this afternoon in a bunch of washouts by idiots driving too fast or in too-deep water.

Right now, I am one of those idiots. It’s just whether or not I’m going to see my brand new car flooded, me swimming, or not.

I vote for not in a really quick conversation with God. I haven’t been talking with the big guy upstairs as much as I did last year. I guess routine makes you forget about such things. I tend to do that. Fall into a pattern that keeps me from doing things that I should be doing. Much like writing. I know I need to do it every, single, mother fucking day. Yet, I skip sometimes. Which is really the old cliché -- it’s two steps backwards.

I have yet to finish anything I have started in over a decade. It’s kind of sad, really. A monument to a great starter, horrible finisher. I’d be the king of quality starts and no complete games in baseball, which makes me a perfect guy for Tony LaRussa. But, I’ve always hated that asshat. He just oozes smugness, and that’s the one thing about guys that annoys me the most. Even more than jarheads who want to go kill. But just slightly.

After my few words with the guy upstairs, I hit the water. I get going slowly and I feel my car shudder at the water. “Oh shit, I’m going to stall,” I think. So I give her a little more gas and she seems to steady herself. Just in time for the guy in front of me to slow down. Way down. I get near him and have to slow too. Down to 10 mph.

This ain’t good. I say out loud. Go asshole!. I pull into the other lane just to keep my car from drifting off the road. The river is going faster than I am at this point, and my car is started to become a boat. Finally, the guy must have woken up, or stopped texting his girlfriend and he lays on the gas. I follow suit, and I feel like Sulu or something from Star Trek. And I think, “Is Sulu really the right person to be feeling like right now?” Maybe Scotty?

My car shakes a bit, but regrabs the road and starts going again. Soon, we’re all out of the water. For now.

I feel lucky. And I’m happy I’m not in the red shark right now. Yes, she was bigger. But without a defroster, and an engine and tranny that overheated, this would have killed it. And officially she would have swam away.

Hell, maybe that would have been a better ending than some Marine buying her? But, of course, that means I would have had to stay in Jones County, North Carolina, as per my “I’ll stay where she breaks down” pact of a while ago.

I should have driven her to the “Free State of Jones.” At least then I may have found the hat. The infamous hat. I bet Josh has written about the hat. Somewhere in all of his scribbles, the hat has to be there. It’s a symbol of something, but I don’t know if either of us knows. And probably a symbol of something completely different for each of us.

God damn I overanalyze ever fucking detail sometimes.

Except for grammar and commas. Fuck grammar and commas. Mrs. Pleasant, I’m sure you’d enjoy hearing me say that…