I, The Divine

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I drove my black Honda Accord on the freeway for the simple reason that I needed to get out of the house. It was Sunday morning and I wanted time to think. I crossed the bridge, unconcerned where I might end up. In time, I would turn around, returning along the same route, without even thinking about it. I wondered what to do, as the rolling hills of the East Bay flew past me. My ex-lover, David, had not called in over six months, but I still wished fervently he would. I was stuck in a relationship that had been over for years.

For someone who had believed the main point of life was relationships, I had done a poor job of living. If relationships were the crucible of transformation, I had shattered those fragile containers. I had failed every romantic relationship I had plunged into. The reasons for these failures continued to elude me, but the resulting feelings did not. I sometimes felt like I had been dropped into a sea of overwhelming sadness. I was unsure whether the feelings were the direct result of my incompetence at relationships or the effect of a biochemical imbalance. For sometimes, like this moment, as I drove on the freeway, I cried for no reason.

The enveloping sadness began in my belly, moved up to my heart, and inundated me. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I drove. I was in the midst of a feeling explosion. I zipped past a highway patrol car on my left. I panicked. The patrol car was behind me, the disco lights went on, and I slowed down. I breathed deeply, slowly, trying to control myself as I parked along the side. I could not let a policeman, a stranger, see me in that state. I tried to stop crying, but was unable to. What the hell, I thought, go for it. I allowed myself to sob and heave loudly. The policeman came to my window, Mars, the god of war, personified, all pomp and circumstance capped off by reflective sunglasses. “Can I have your registration and driver’s license, ma’am?”

“Yes, of course, officer,” I replied between sobs. I began looking through my purse.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked, beginning to visibly deflate.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be okay. I’m just having emotional problems.” It was a miracle I could even be understood. I was practically in hysterics as I handed him my driver’s license. “It’s an old picture. I looked better then.” The last sentence was followed by a loud heave and a renewed bout of crying.

“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” he muttered, no longer sure of himself. His hand trembled.

“Yes, I’ll be okay in a few minutes. I’ll just stay here for a bit until this passes.”

“Where are you going, ma’am?”

Go for it, I thought to myself. It was Sunday. “To church.”

“Will you be able to drive?” he asked me, his voice hesitant.

“Yes, just let me catch my breath. I’ll be able to drive as soon as this passes. It always does.” Another loud sob.

“Well, ma’am,” he said, giving me back my license without having looked at it, “please take your time before getting back on the highway.”

“I will, officer,” I said compliantly. “I’ll just wait here for a while.” No ticket, not even a warning, nothing.

He backed away from me, turned around, and practically ran back to his car. He drove out so fast he almost hit another car as he changed lanes. I sobbed and laughed at the same time. Animus meets Anima and runs away in terror. My life story