We were screaming out warnings, imperatives thrown from the bottom of our fear. My mother-in-law was driving. She uncharacteristically veered around obstacles at top speed, narrowly missing a bridge here, a pedestrian there. The windshield in front of her eyes had become a game console with road and surroundings rendered in low-tech 3D. To her, it was a game… but we all knew it was real. We could die.
I awoke in a cold sweat, thankful to be removed from the nocturnal swervings of another nightmare. And I sat there wondering. Do I put too much stock in something that is really just an appearance? Or do I lightly dismiss real-life elements coming at me top speed? Am I looking at and reacting to reality or just a windscreen projection?
Life is not, at the moment, a chauffeured spin through the countryside. It is a white-knuckle, split second survival slam. It all happens at once. Two kids veering off, away from home, on their own, while the parent drivers try to keep the wheel steady, eyeing the gas gauge, tachometer, engine temp, fluid level, electrical system and tire pressure all at the same time. Amazing that it even holds together. But somehow it does.
We hurtle down the highway, talking over the racket of engine and road. It is enough that we are together and that there are moments when what you really meant to say materializes in front of your mouth and blesses the chaos with a pocket of peace.