A Late Start

A Late Start

           I turned over, nuzzled my pillow and snuggled deeper into the cocooning warmth of my quilt. Lazily I opened one eye, squinted and peeked at my digital clock.

           “Crap!”

           The covers flew and I was on my feet racing for the bathroom shouting. “Kristen, I slept in. Get up. Now! We are very, and I mean very late.”

           Over-sleeping was foreign to me, I am habitually an early riser so never set the alarm. And this was the very worst day to be late. Kristen had an important exam her first morning class and I had an appointment with a client that might lead to a potentially lucrative consignment. We were both in a dreadfully tight time crunch. My stomach muscles clenched and unclenched threatening nausea as I rushed into the kitchen. I triple-tasked—measured coffee grounds, buttered, bread for sandwiches, filled a bowl with cornflakes and threw bread in the toaster all the while I listened to hear footsteps upstairs. Kristen had been studying in the dining room until late evening leaving her books scattered across the table. I gathered them into her carry-all, buttered the toast, and poured a cup of coffee for myself and a glass of milk for my daughter.

           “Hurry, its almost eight thirty!”

           Sleep still in her soft blue eyes, my tall, lithe daughter swept into the kitchen like a storm. Her red hair seemed to be on fire.

           “Mom, how could you sleep in today of all days? You knew I was supposed to meet Janet before class. We were going to go over some last minute notes together.”

           “Well that isn’t going to happen is it? If you hurry you will just make it in time to sit the exam.”

           I watched her spoon a few mouthfuls of cereal and swallow half a glass of milk, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, throw me a hap-hazard kiss and head out the door. I heard her car spin it's wheels pulling out of the driveway minutes later.

           My toast sat uneaten on the counter, I was too unnerved to eat. I spun on my heels and took only time for a quick sponge wash, applied minimal makeup and donned my business clothes. I knew I was going to be late opening the store. I owned a paint-and-decorating business that contractors relied on for picking up their daily supplies. I usually opened for business promptly at 8am or earlier and I was already forty-five minutes late. This was the only day of the week that my assistant didn’t open and I was really—really late. Not only that, I was meeting a new building contractor at 9 am to discuss providing paint, wall coverings and window blinds for an apartment complex. It had been a slow few months and the possibility of this contract was crucial to the bottom line.

           One quick glance in the hall mirror as I neared the front door told me I would have to do. Jangling my car keys I strode across the driveway, got in the mini van that carried my corporate logo on the side and tore off down the road. By pushing the pedal to the metal there was still the possibility that I might arrive only a few minutes late for that meeting. This was one morning I was praying that there were not a line of customers waiting to purchase paint.

           I didn’t get far.

           Minutes later I’m trying to explain all my woes to a policeman that this was not my usual speed on that straight stretch of road. I told a face that wore a bored-with-excuses expression as I searched in my purse for my driver’s license. Meekly I handed it over and waited my fate.

           “Do you have a daughter?”

           “Pardon.”

           “Do you have a daughter—one that drives a grey Pontiac?”

           “Yes—why?”

           “I pulled her over not fifteen minutes ago. She told me the same story.”

           “Oh, darn. It’s been a wretched morning.”

           “I gave her a speeding ticket.”

           Now he was going to give me one.

           He bent his tall frame and leaned in my window.  “M'am, I hate to see you both stuck with a $250 fine this morning.” I could see what I perceived as mock-sympathy written on his fresh-shaved smug young face. I could smell his shaving lotion.

           “How much?” I gasped not really wanting him to repeat it.

           “Have you any idea how far over the speed limit you and your daughter were going? I should really charge you both.”

           I saw the hesitation and an opportunity. Meekly I ventured “I could pay half of her ticket.” I clenched my teeth and looked imploringly at this young man in blue. It was more of a weak pun, it was intended to make light of the situation not propose a solution.

           He stood back from my window and looked hard at me, folded his arms then a broad smile spread across his face, “Hey, justice by half—I’ll settle for that.”

           Phrases of gratitude poured from me as he handed over my license and sent me on my way with a caution to watch the speed limit. I traveled the last few miles with only kind thoughts for our boys in blue.

           Kristen worked at the store after school hours. When she came through the door I met her with a stern look.

           “I heard you were speeding on Malakoff Road today.”

           “How did you hear?”

           “The police spoke with me.”

           “Oh, Mommy, I’m so sorry. I was trying to make up for the lost time. I didn’t think they would call you. I’m so, so sorry.”

           My inner demon was greedily enjoying her suffering. I let her spill all as she tried to weasel some sort of forgiveness.

           “I’ll pay for it, honestly. Please don’t take away my car. Take the fine out of my wages. I’ll never, never speed again.” Her eyes searched mine, pleading for understanding, pleading for her life.

           Oh, I was enjoying this.

           “Mommy, please, please—forgive me.”

           At this point I couldn’t contain myself any more, burst out laughing and confessed.

           “You are one mean mother. How could you do that to me?” A slow smile crept across her face, her sense of humor a match for mine.

           We compared notes and determined finally that we were both way over the speed limit and how fortunate we were to have been stopped by a compassionate cop. The villain in our story became our hero of the day. We vowed to mend our ways.

           “Oh, by the way, Mom, I aced my test.”

           “And I got the Shield contract.”