On my way home on Bell Road some time ago, a young male Hispanic in a small green sports car kept weaving dangerously in and out of lanes, cutting in very closely and riding my bumper when he was behind me. I flipped him the bird and he gave one back and then proceeded to ride alongside me, staring at me. I stared back at a stop sign and then looked away. I should have mouthed an F-bomb at him, but I didn’t. I should have played staredown with him, but I didn’t. I was afraid if I did he’d pull a gun and shoot me dead. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, especially in the Phoenix area where stupid killings take place daily. He finally sped ahead of me somewhere around El Mirage and I drove home without him. But he was still in my mind. He reminded me of the kind of terror inspired by Osama bin Laden and his ilk. The violence is so random and senseless. Like being held hostage by nameless, faceless people. Like being in a room with a mad dog, knowing the damn thing is going to attack, not because you’ve done anything wrong or been harmful to him, but just because it’s his nature. I really wish I’d confronted the young man and backed him down. I mean, what did I have to lose? My life, that’s what. But oh, would it have felt good.
I've always collected errors in diction, things people mis-hear, like "windshield factor" and "the next store neighbors." Years ago, one of my students wrote an essay in which she described the world as being harsh and cruel, "a doggy-dog world." I've since come to think she may have been more astute and accurate than those who describe it in the usual way. My Stories - Mobridge Memories -
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