Frazzled

It was both of our faults. I was turning right at a crowded intersection. I had already looked her way for pedestrians, then concentrated on merging into traffic. She walked along the right side the car (and I couldn't see her) then walked around the front. She should've walked behind my car. I was already way over the crosswalk and half-turned.

But then it was dark. A really dark storm cloud.  I had just realized that one of my headlights were out and my steering was all weird like I had a flat tire.  And my phone kept blinging with text messages. Unimportant ones. A coworker complaining about our new boss. People dishing all the details about last night's episode of TWD (which I haven't seen yet). My sister and her long string of private Facebook messages. I didn't check them...I didn't have the audacity to them....but they just kept blinging in...and I admit to allowing my mind to wander and wonder what the blings could be.  

So I let the brake pedal go and idled into traffic.  I heard a thump and a curse, and turned to see a pretty younger woman bent over my hood, banging it with her fists, arguing at me.

I am SO so careful.  I taught my sister to drive, and my number one lesson to her was to always assume that the other drivers are crazed lunatics. You have to always be on your guard.  I've never had an accident in my life.

I was so stunned. I lowered my window as she walked away yelling at me. I think she thought I was going to yell back.  Instead, I asked her if she was alright, and then apologized like 100 times. Whatever she saw in my behavior calmed her down, and she started repeating, "It's okay. I'm alright." 

After some serious begging, she agreed to let me give her a lift, probably only because the weather was looking more and more grim. But at least it gave me an additional opportunity to repay her for my horrible transgression. 

I apologized again and waited to see if she wanted to talk or suffer the ride quietly.  She decided to talk, and I'm so thankful. I learned she has a 3 year old daughter, she works in a salon in Ferndale, and she's saving up to buy a car. I invited her to a volunteer gig I'm working on Halloween at a skating rink in Detroit. I gave her my number and said goodbye to Karima. 

Karima.  That's "karma" with an "I".

Taking 8 Mile home. My hands are shaking.