This post is the third part of the story “Carpool Lane”. To
read the first and second parts of the story please click on the link to these
postings on the right side of the page. Thanks for reading!
The highway patrol officer had only sounded his siren once,
so the two of us were driving along in silence. The lights in my rear view
mirror continued to flash red and blue. It was an eerie feeling. I don’t like
to be the center of attention, but at that moment I knew that thousands of
people were watching me be pursued by a law enforcement officer. I began to
sweat as the embarrassment of the situation crept over me. I continued to drive
the speed limit, waiting for a safe opportunity to merge right and allow the
cop to confront me. I told myself not to panic.
In my head I began to imagine the many possibilities of why
I was being pulled over; it may not be the fact that I was illegally driving in
the carpool lane. Maybe I had a bad brake light. Maybe my tags were expired.
No, I had renewed those a few months ago. Maybe the officer wasn’t pulling me
over; maybe he just wanted to pass me. I looked to my right and saw an opening
in the traffic. I slowly merged over and waited to see what the highway patrol
car would do. He didn’t speed up to pass me instead his blinker came on right
away and he move in behind me. I guess that was enough evidence to know that he
really was after me.
I looked for another
break in traffic so I could merge right and pull onto the shoulder. Traffic was
slow and congested, but it moved along steadily. Of course the carpool lane was
moving along much faster. As I looked into my rearview mirror I saw a car
quickly approaching in the carpool lane. One word came to my mind, “buffer”.
I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but before I could think again I had
the pedal to the medal and I was taking off in the carpool lane. I watched my
RPM’s climb higher than I had ever seen them before. I had gone from slowly
crawling to flying down the freeway in a manner of seconds. My buffer had come
in behind me at the perfect time. The highway patrol officer had not had enough
time to react, so he was stuck a quarter of a mile back with two cars between
us.
High speed chases were a brand new thing for me. I had seen
plenty of them on television, but I knew they always ended poorly. What I
really needed was some help. I looked to the passenger seat on my right. “Well,
what do we do now, Tim?” I yelled out. I’m not sure why that name came out, but
it seemed fitting that the mannequin now have a name. He was no longer just an
inanimate object for me to exploit, he was an accomplice. Tim gave no response,
so it was up to me to formulate a plan. “Thanks for the help, Tim!” I screamed,
as I continued to accelerate.
I remembered a story my brother had told me about a time he
out ran a cop. His strategy was to create some distance between the cop and
himself, and then he hid behind a building as the cop drove by. I thought that
same strategy might work for me. I explained the plan to Tim and asked “What do
you think?” I was sure he approved, so I looked to see what the next off ramp
would be. My usual exit to the I-17 was now miles behind me. The next exit was
67th Avenue. I knew if I got off at that exit and turned right there
would be a shopping center I could pull into and try to hide. I checked my
mirrors and saw that the highway patrol car was still pursuing me, but at this
point was half a mile back. I saw a gap in traffic; “Hold on, Tim!” I shouted
as I crossed three lanes and exited the freeway in one fluid movement.
The shopping center was on the right just as I had
remembered it. I merged onto the frontage road and saw an entrance to the
parking lot. Without using my turn signal and barely slowing down I swung my
car into the parking lot and headed for the back of the grocery store. It was
about a quarter of a mile away from the entrance, so I had a good distance to
cover before the highway patrol car came after me. The last thing I wanted to
do was draw attention to myself, so I slowed down to 15 mph and gingerly made
my way across the lot. My eyes were glued to my rear view mirror. Just as I
reached the corner of the building I saw the highway patrol car exit the
freeway and zoom down the frontage road. It stopped at the light at 67th
Avenue and made a right. I released a sigh of relief as the car disappeared
down the road, lights still blazing.
Behind the grocery store, I pulled my car next to a dumpster
and killed the engine. I rested my head on the steering wheel and breathed
heavily. “Tim”, I said quietly. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore. I know I got you into this, but I think we
need to part ways”. Tim sat there silently
with no expression. “I do want my
clothes back though” I said. I opened the door and walked around to the passenger
side. I pulled Tim from the car and took off the aviator sunglasses, the Hershey’s
hat, the mullet wig, and my old Chicago Bulls t-shirt. Tim was a little heavier than I had
remembered. I lifted him up to look at him for the last time. His head hung
down as if he were defeated. I set him
on the rim of the dumpster then slowly pushed him inside.
As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked in each
direction for signs of the highway patrol car or any backup he may have called.
It appeared that there was nobody looking for me. I navigated my car slowly to
67th Avenue and turned left towards home. The drive home was a rush of negative emotions
and realizations. I was depressed and despondent. The feeling of freedom I had
while driving in the carpool lane seemed a distant memory. I knew I was done
skirting the law. I had flown to close to the sun on wings of cheap glue and
rash ideas.
By the time I reached home I had made peace with the fact
that I would have to return to the much longer commutes in the much slower
lanes. That was alright though; I wasn't cut out for a life on the lamb. I
realized that maybe I belonged in the safe lane, and that I was a little more
risk averse than I had previously allowed myself to believe. My wife was
checking the mail as I pulled into the drive way. She walked up behind the car
and smiled. We kissed each other and she asked, “Where’s the mannequin?” I
smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “Who, Tim?” I asked. She gave me a puzzled
look. “He’s not coming back” I said. I
turned and walked inside, and closed the door behind me.
