I’m going faster than the signs limit, but slower than the other cars barreling through the toll plaza. Before I even see it, a car is right up behind me, that’s how fast they’re going.

As soon as they’re past the concrete divider after the tollbooth, the car darts over to the right to pass me. But the lane to their right merges into their lane and that lane is occupied by a semitruck. The car is caught unaware and has to slam on their brakes. Then the lane now occupied by both the semi and too-fast car pours into my lane. I use this lane every day because the other lanes merge into it. My lane is the safest course through this bonkers toll plaza where everyone is in too much of a hurry. I’ve learned to anticipate other cars’ swerves over the five years I’ve been using my lane.

I see the semi approaching and let it in front of me. The car is only now figuring out what’s happening and falls in behind me.

I feel smug. So much hurry to get nowhere.

The car lays on its horn. Short jabs, long bursts, all out of rhythm and chaotic, bellowing out their frustration. I throw one hand up, palm lifted to the sky, trying to motion to the semi in front of me, trying to say there’s nowhere for me to go. The car does not care; it stays on its horn. I take my arm that had been gesturing at the semi and turn it upright. From the safety of my car, I raise my middle finger.

The semi moves left a lane. Since I do not instantaneously start to speed up, the car also darts left a lane, then another.

I see the car pull in front of me and slam its brakes. I avoid them easily because I was driving at a safe speed. The driver tosses a middle finger out the window at me. A middle finger pointed at someone who has done nothing wrong is meaningless.

They pull their finger back inside the car, but do not speed off. This is alarming. There’s no car in front of them, preventing them from traveling at an unsafe speed. I’m not totally sure they’re done with me.

My exit is next. I debate not getting off, drive a while until they get bored with me and drive off. I decide I’m being crazy, expecting strife where there is none. They wait until I’m on the exit ramp, then dart over in front of me.

Everything inside of me seizes up. The whole world flashes bright, then the world around the car goes dim, but the car brightens more. I’ve made a huge mistake.

The car parks at an angle, taking up the entire lane. I stop behind, panicked and unsure what to do.

The driver sticks her upper body out the window, “What did you say? You call me a bitch?”

I hadn’t said anything. Even if I had, there was no way she could have been able to tell from her car behind me. Like I think it will matter, I say, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You think I’m a bitch, huh? Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

As long as she stays in her car, this isn’t escalating. I’ll be safe. I can deal with this as long as it doesn’t get worse. If I don’t say anything this will all go away. Ignore the problem and it will disappear.

She gets out of the car. She comes up to my window, puts her face right next to it and says, “Who’s the bitch now, bitch?” Even though it’s hot out, her breath fogs my window.

“Just go,” I say. “Leave me alone.”

“I can’t hear you,” she says. “Come out here and say that.”

I look straight ahead, say nothing.

 “That’s what I thought. Not such a tough guy now.”

I’m not tough. I’ve never claimed to be. She has no idea who I am. I just want this to end. I want to get home where it’s safe.

“What do you have to say now? Huh? Nothing.”

“You’re right. I don’t have anything to say. Not now, not ever. Feckless, that’s who I am. I stand up for myself one time and look where that gets me. I am probably going to get beat up.” The tears start. “Everything is terrible, but I can’t think about that. I wish it wasn’t. I wish it was better, wish I was better, but I can’t do anything about it. All I can do is try to move through life with the least resistance possible. Work is a mess. No one likes me. I doubt I’m any good at it, but who knows? All I want is to get home, drink my glass of wine, watch something and not have to think about it. To not have to think about anything. Because to think about it is to let it hurt.” I get out of the car. “Because that’s all it is, right? Pain. That’s all anything is. Everything hurts. If you want to take all that pain and make it physical for me, fine. At least that will make sense. At least there will be a reason for that.” I’m bawling now. I know what I’m saying, but it might sound like blubbering and gasping for breath. “No one’s going to know because no one cares. No one will check on me. If you want, you can kill me. No one will notice I’m gone. If it helps you feel better then go ahead and do it. Come on. Give me something real.” I offer up my face, a clean shot.

She says, “You really need help.” She pats me on the shoulder, then gets back in her car and drives away. She leaves me here alone and full of pain as ever. No one will save me.

– Mike Bahl