Changing Lanes

“Changing Lanes”

The garage door squeaked and groaned as it opened, just like it had for years. The morning light revealed the years of oil stains on the concrete floor and the dust that seemed to cover everything inside. For Ben it was like stepping back in time; garden tools and a lawnmower resting in the corner, a workbench with an array of hand tools neatly hanging on the pegboard wall above it. He’d spent so much time there learning how to use tools and making things and listening to the ballgames on the big silver boom-box sitting on the worktable. But that was a long time ago and now that both of his parents had passed away the garage was simply a big box of old stuff that had to be disposed of.

When Ben and his older brother Sam had met with the estate lawyer they’d decided to divide responsibilities for getting rid of things. Sam would focus on the real estate portion and Ben would handle everything else. All in all it was a meager estate worth more in memories than money. An estate sale would take care of the disposition of the content of the house and garage, except for one item. Ben walked over and opened the door of his father’s old 1988 Mercury Capri. He was just twelve years old when he went to the dealership with his father and walked around the lot with him, searching for the perfect car for the family. By today’s standards it wasn’t much to get excited about but back in 1988 that metallic blue sedan was a car to be proud of.

Given the car’s age it wasn’t exactly in mint condition. There was rust around the bottom of the body, the chrome on the bumpers was bubbled with age and there were small dents and dings all over the fenders and doors. The black vinyl roof had cracked and faded to a dark gray. The interior was well worn and there were tears in the vinyl upholstery and dashboard. His father had always been a stickler for maintenance so mechanically it was reasonably sound, although a sensible person wouldn’t want to take any kind of long trip in it. Ben doubted the car would sell in an estate sale and Sam had joked to him, “Just make it go away.” Ben decided he’d jump the battery, drive it home and figure out what to do with it later.

Arranging the estate sale had already eaten into Ben’s busy schedule. His work as a writer and editor for a large public relations firm meant he was always aiming to meet deadlines. He’d worked out a fairly efficient day-to-day routine but it didn’t take much to disrupt things. The estate sale and figuring out what to do with the old car would be ongoing irritants to him for the next few weeks. And beyond his nine-to-five routine he also tried to schedule time each day to work on his passion; fiction writing. He’d written a self-published novel and even though it wasn’t exactly a best-seller it had sold enough copies to encourage him to try a second one. Unfortunately, he was at a total loss about what the subject and storyline might be. His college writing professor stressed that a writer did his best work writing from personal experience. That sounded logical to Ben but he’d realized long ago that his life wasn’t filled with the kind of action or adventure worth writing about.

He took one last walk around the car and then closed the door and headed home. It was the first Saturday in weeks that he hadn’t had to go into the office. Too many times someone else’s deadlines became his and he had to help them out. Today was going to be running errands and an early happy hour with his friend Ivan. They had met while they were sitting in the waiting room of a law office and during their conversation had discovered that they had the same lawyer working on their respective divorces. It was an odd way to build a bond but they had become instant friends.

Traffic around the shops and restaurants was the normal weekend-heavy and during the hour and a half of running errands Ben had encountered the usual number of rude, aggressive and just plain reckless drivers. It seemed like every time he got behind the wheel he knew that eventually he’d find himself in a situation that would require him to slam on his brakes, swerve or lay on his horn. To him, road rage had become part of the culture.

Today, happy hour would be starting early; two o’clock instead of four. Both he and Ivan had had stressful weeks in their offices and decided an early start to their weekend partying was in order. They were both trying to adapt to single life and Ben had a feeling that Saturday happy hour would become a regular part of their lives. When he walked into Pablo’s at ten minutes to two Ivan was already sitting at the bar. When he saw Ben walking toward him Ivan looked around and said, “Man, this two o’clock starting time feels weird. Some people are still eating lunch.”

Ben laughed. “Then let’s decide here and now. If we order food, any kind or amount of food, it won’t count as a happy hour.”

Ivan nodded. “Okay, I’ll order us some pretzels.”

Ben sat down on the stool next to Ivan’s and noticed his friend’s almost empty beer mug. “Geez, what time did you get here?”

Ivan had a sheepish look. “Oh, only about fifteen minutes ago. I had to throw back my first few swallows just to settle my nerves. Some idiot in an old Explorer cut me off on the Parkway and nearly drove me off the road. I was so tempted to follow him and chew him out but I figured there would be no way that would end well.”

“I know what you mean. It’s like you can’t go anywhere without having some kind of traffic altercation, large or small.”

“Yeah, and when you’re driving an Acura like mine or a Beemer like yours, there’s more at risk for us than the other guy.”

An attractive, young bartender interrupted them. Hey, guys, are we ordering any food today?”

Ben turned to Ivan and said, “I need more than pretzels,” then turned back to the bartender. ”I think we’ll need some menus.”

For the next two weeks Ben juggled his writing deadlines, the arrangements for the estate sale and his search for ideas for a novel. In addition to all of that, the old Capri had been sitting in his garage waiting for Ben to decide on its future.

When the estate sale finally came on the following Saturday, there was a mix of stress and nostalgia for Ben and Sam. They’d both already walked through the house and taken the things that they wanted to hang on to. Still, watching the auctioneer sell off the rest of it, piece by piece then carrying it out the door was hard for Ben. He’d spent most of the day pacing around the backyard. By five o’clock the sale was over and the people started to leave. By five- thirty a big part of his past was gone.

On Monday, despite a morning commute that at times felt more like bumper cars than normal driving and frustration with a parked car that almost kept him from squeezing into his parking space Ben felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. With the sale behind him and a welcome easing of his schedule at the office, it would become easier to spend time on ideas for his next novel. This time around, he’d promised himself he’d follow the advice from his professor and write a story from his own life experience. He knew that would be easier said than done.

None of the things he was writing about at work were unusual; mostly promotional copy for corporate clients and a public service announcement for a local hospital. There was nothing special, nothing he could turn into a story that anyone could read and stay awake. He needed inspiration.

Post-divorce life is something a man makes up as he goes along. Taco Tuesdays at Pablo’s with Ivan and a few other friends had become another part of Ben’s weekly routine. It was always fun to be with friends and one more night he didn’t have to make dinner for himself. The group usually broke up around seven or seven-thirty but this time it went a little longer. At eight-thirty Ben turned on to the Parkway and headed for home. He was about five minutes into his drive when he noticed a weaving pair of headlights in his rearview mirror. “Here we go again,” he thought, “another crazy road show.” Ben was driving the speed limit but the weaving car caught up to him quickly and stayed on his bumper. He’d always thought that the most dangerous thing on the road was a tailgater and the driver behind him didn’t back off when Ben accelerated slightly. After another mile or so Ben decided on another tactic. He slowed way down in the right lane so the tailgater had plenty of room to get around him. When the guy finally pulled around Ben’s left side it seemed like he’d pass and things would be over, but when the car was directly beside him Ben looked over and got a good look at it. It was saw the driver and his three passengers all laughing and seemingly oblivious to the fact they were in a moving vehicle.

“Good lord, those guys are high on something,” Ben thought. He slowed down a little more and the other driver moved up but hadn’t completely passed Ben’s car when he tried to pull into the right lane. “Holy crap,” Ben muttered, and before he could back off his accelerator the other car forced its way in front of him. There was nothing Ben could do but swerve right to avoid an impact and even though he’d missed the car he didn’t miss the guardrail. By the time he’d come to a stop his heart was pounding and his anger was hard to control. He pounded his hands on the steering wheel and shouted, “You idiots, you stupid idiots!” He got out and stood on the shoulder of the road inspecting the damage.

A car pulled up behind him and the driver opened his window. “Are you alright? I saw that guy cut you off.”

“Yeah, I’m okay but my car isn’t.”

“Did you get his license number?”

“No, I was too busy trying to save my car and myself. Did you get it?”

“No, I tried to when he passed me about a mile back but he was all over the road. Is your car drivable?”

“Yeah, it’s just body damage, a lot of body work.”

“Too bad, it’s a nice car. Well, good luck,” the man said and then pulled back out into the traffic.

It was too dark to get a good look at the damage so Ben got back into the car and headed home. As he drove he tried to make sense of what had happened and how it could have been avoided. He’d always been a cautious driver and did everything possible to avoid accidents. He was the perfect example of a defensive driver. When he pulled into his driveway and as the garage door slowly opened his headlights shined on the solution to both of his problems. The old Mercury Capri could give him the chance to stop playing on the defensive team and switch to the offense. All sentiment aside, the metallic blue Capri was basically a disposable car. It was already in rough shape and any further damage to it wouldn’t really matter.

Ben stopped his car and as he sat there looking at the Capri a smile slowly came to his face. There it was, he’d finally found the subject of his novel; an old, rundown car that gives a man a way to end his being victimized. It could become a great story and what had happened to him a half hour earlier gave him the title; “Duel on 87N”.

As traumatic as his accident had been Ben laid in bed that night feeling surprisingly upbeat. Insurance would take care of getting his Beemer back to looking like new and that eased his anger about the damage. He felt strangely excited about what laid ahead.

The next day had been busier than usual. A meeting with his claims adjuster and an unexpected deadline change from a large client extended his workday but when he’d gotten home at six-thirty and opened the garage door, the old car brought another smile to his face. After Grub-Hub delivered his dinner he sat down with his laptop and began outlining his new novel. His commitment to writing from his own experience would have a huge effect on the storyline. He’d already compiled a list from memory of highway altercations in his BMW. His lead character’s metamorphosis into a daring and offensive driver would require some imagination but also some real-life experiences. Over the next few evenings he’d worked around that part of his task but knew he’d have to deal with it soon. On Saturday he met with a local mechanic who specialized in older vehicles. The man had made it clear to Ben that there was only so much he could do short of an expensive restoration. Ben told him to just make it safe and reliable. He avoided making cosmetics a part of the conversation.

By the following Saturday the book outline was nearly completed and the Capri was ready for pick-up. While Ivan drove him to the mechanic’s shop Ben filled him in on his story idea. His usually fun-loving friend listened quietly and as Ben was getting out of the car he said, “Look, Ben, I like the story concept you’re going for but don’t do anything crazy to get there.” Ben was caught off guard and just nodded. “Thanks for the lift, I’ll call you later.”

Sitting behind the wheel of the Capri brought a flood of memories. It was the car he’d learned to drive on and the place of his first romantic encounter. He ran his hands over the vinyl upholstery then started the engine. It sounded strong and smooth. When he pulled out on to the street he noticed how different the steering felt and how big the wheel was in his hands. It would take time to get used to the old technology. He spent the weekend driving streets, highways and even the interstate and through parking lots of all sizes. In a strange way it made him feel like he was looking for trouble, the kind of situations an offensive driver in a disposable car wouldn’t back away from.

Two weeks into his writing and his real-life research he’d only come up with a few minor driving adventures for the story. There was the day he’d been driving in the right lane in a highway construction zone and a guy in a pick-up in the left lane made an aggressive move to cut in front of him at the exit. Instead of his usual braking hard to avoid damage to his BMW he held his ground in the Capri. The pickup made contact with Ben’s front fender and then careened into a line of traffic cones as Ben headed down the exit ramp. There was some minor damage and some major satisfaction. The next day as he was driving into the crowded parking lot of Home Depot he saw a black Mercedes taking up four spaces so no one could get close and ding its doors. Without hesitation he squeezed in between a light pole and the driver’s side door of the Mercedes. While he was in the store he tried to picture the driver having to open the passenger door and slide over to get behind the steering wheel. Ben thought the note the man left under his windshield wiper was colorful enough to use in the book.

But to be exciting the story would require something special, an ending worthy of an angry lead character driving a disposable car. Ben had tried several times to write a fictional scene but they didn’t ring true. This had to be a scene the readers would find realistic and wouldn’t easily forget. It was while he was watching the evening news on TV that the idea came to him. While the screen was filled with video of heavy traffic on several highways the reporter was warning the viewers to drive carefully during the upcoming holiday weekend, to expect delays and to avoid the interstate and Parkway if possible. It sounded like the weekend would offer the scene experience he was looking for.

On Saturday morning he went to the drive-thru at McDonalds for a quick breakfast and while he waited in line he texted Ivan that he’d call him when he got back from a scene-building trip. Ivan still seemed to have reservations about Ben’s insistence on reality and texted back “Like I told you before, nothing crazy.”

Ben smiled, took his order from the young man at the window and headed toward the interstate. When he reached the entrance ramp he put down his coffee cup, checked the snugness of his seatbelt and eased into the right lane. It was only eight-fifteen and the traffic was already heavy, moving slowly in the right lanes and faster in the left. He could see the flashing lights of a highway patrol car about a quarter mile ahead. As he pushed his way into the faster moving traffic he muttered, “Okay, Ben, let’s go make a story.”