Paying Attention

It had snowed the day before. Melted then froze. As I prepared to drive the 22 miles to the university, it began to snow again. Hard. More than a little apprehensive, I drove to the on-ramp of I-95 hoping it had been plowed and sanded. It hadn’t. As I drove, I passed remnants of accidents—some already cleared, a few in the process. I drove slowly, lights and blinkers on, swearing at drivers going too fast, leaving too little room between their cars and mine, hoping no car would crash into me, which almost happened a few times. I arrived at my office drenched with sweat despite the cold.

After teaching my classes, I looked out and saw snow was still falling. I considered staying the night but I had a son needing supper, a cat wanting food. I called the highway commission to enquire about road conditions. “It’s a mess out there,” the man said, “but if you drive slowly, you should be all right.” I wasn’t comforted, especially when he added, “Keep your lights on and if you’re going below the speed limit, keep your blinkers on.” Who drives the speed limit when it’s snowing, with the possibility of ice underneath?

It took a while to brush the snow and ice off my windows even with the defroster at high speed. I drove out of the parking lot slowly, trying to remain calm as I skidded toward the street. Visibility was limited. It was not yet dark but I turned my lights on, driving to the entrance of I-95 filled with anxiety. Some drivers were driving slowly. Too many were going too fast for the road conditions. I hugged the right side often too close to the railing. 

I was afraid to stop. Afraid to keep going. Thinking about my son waiting for me to come home kept me going. I drove past three accidents in the first few miles and drove even slower. Drivers passed me as if they weren’t affected by the road conditions. What did they know that I didn’t. Suddenly a car swerved in front of me. Afraid to use the brake, which might make me skid, I took my foot off the gas pedal, grateful for my stick shift. The car in front of me suddenly swerved to the left and crashed into a car, both stopped by the wall on the left.

I drove even more slowly, hugging the right guard rail. A few miles from my exit I stopped the car as close to the guard rail on the right as possible. So many cars had crashed into each other I wasn’t sure I could get through the devastation. While I waited, cars continued to collide, swerving on impact into other cars that were crashing into smashed cars. It was like watching bumper cars at an amusement park although there was nothing funny about it. I waited, although I didn’t know what I was waiting for.

Unexpectedly there was a lull in the traffic. No cars behind me, only smashed cars in front of me. I started the car and drove as slowly as I could, weaving my way in and out of the wreckage. It felt like it took forever to get to the off-ramp, even longer to drive the two miles to my house in the heavy snowfall.

When I got home, my son hugged me, crying, afraid I wouldn’t make it home. I made hot chocolate for him, stress tea for me. When we both calmed down, I called the State Police to tell them about the accidents. “Nothing we can do about them,” she said. “All the tow trucks are out. Ambulances are getting stuck. People are driving too damn fast. Don’t they see it’s snowing?” 

I told the woman about my drive home. “It usually takes 45 minutes. This time it took more than two hours.”

“Well, you were smart. Paying attention.”

Have you listened to an inner voice when you didn’t know what to do?

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may 2025 monthly stories