Road Rage

The plan: Leave work early, pick up Charlie from the groomer, and make it to the Dojang in time for taekwondo class. Simple, right?

Wrong.

First, the groomer wasn’t finished with Charlie. Would Jenna like to wait while they dried Charlie a little better? “Hate to send you off with a wet dog.”

Hate not to tip you.

No. Jenna had to get going. Ergo, wet dog in her new car. No dog blanket because it should’ve been a clean, dry, soapy-smelling dog, not this wet mess.

Second, the sloth in a Subaru going ten miles per hour in a twenty-five zone. The Subaru had a bumper sticker: I hope something good happens to you today. At the first stoplight, the Subaru didn’t go at green. Jenna waited…waited…waited.

Courtesy tap. (She’d seen Unhinged.)

At the next stoplight, Subaru didn’t see the light change from red to green AGAIN. Jenna waited…waited-

HOOOOOONK!

From the Subaru driver, aimed at Jenna: a harried hand-wave with a middle-finger finish.

Not nice. Not something good happening to Jenna today. Every minute wet Charlie sat in her car infused it with foul dog stench.

So Jenna rode Subaru’s bumper down Prospect Road. Until Subaru brake-checked her. Jenna had to jam the brakes so hard, a shaft of agony kinked her knee. The thick polyester seatbelt knifed her neck. Charlie pitched forward into the footwell. So did her coffee. A whack of impact and sharp whine of pain. Charlie, now wearing this morning’s mocha latte.

From Subaru: a lone, erect, middle finger. They were stopped on Prospect. Jenna stormed from her car but got a mouthful of gravel when Subaru gunned away. From behind, the opposite of courtesy taps.

Charlie’s snout bled freely on the seat and blood dripped into the empty cup holder. He seemed woozy. Jenna drove as fast as she dared, hoping to catch up with Subaru, not sure of what she’d do when she did. Various and sundry blackbelt strokes came to mind.

But then, Charlie slumped onto the seat. She reached over and shook him. Nothing. She pried his eyes a bit roughly. They rolled, unfocused. As she braked for a light, the forces pulled his body into the footwell. Jenna’s eyes glossed, turning the road fuzzy. With a resolute wipe, she pushed down harder on the accelerator.

Catching the Subaru, getting justice, going home or to the Dojang were all forgotten. An animal hospital was all that mattered now. Charlie’s nose was wedged beneath the passenger seat, so she couldn’t see if his nostrils flared with life or whether his rib cage rose and fell, at least not while driving. The precious minutes it took to get to the vet hospital were her monsters.

Every light seemed to turn red just before she got to it. Jenna was just about to run the red when a woman wearing a flowered moo-moo and crocks ambled into the crosswalk. At the halfway mark, the walker wheel got jammed in a pothole. She jerked and tugged, but the walker wouldn’t come free. A car going left stopped in the middle of the intersection, and the driver got out to assist her. He, too, yanked at the stubborn walker, to no avail.

The light turned green, but there wasn’t enough room to get around.

Jenna glanced into the footwell at her Charlie: wet, broken, still.

The word-blades that flew from her mouth out the open window couldn’t be helped. They were helplessness and rage at the unfairness of it all. She needed them to move, so she could go.

The good Samaritan told her to shove it.

She blinked back more tears and nosed her car around them, willing the space to be enough, to magically expand so she wouldn’t run them over. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her foot to the floor, knowing full well she couldn’t get by without- at the least- clipping the steel walker. Sorry, but…my dog.

She closed her eyes, saw them both go down, dozed by her bumper, crushed by the tire.

For the second time that day, Jenna slammed on the brakes. Just in time. She hadn’t taken them out, after all. Adrenalized by fear for Charlie and what she’d almost done, Jenna catapulted from her vehicle and commanded the woman and Samaritan to stand back. The force of her words and the insane look on her face got results. They backed away.

One violent roundhouse kick and the walker not only loosed from the concrete but went flying several yards into the tree lawn. In several pieces. The good Samaritan shook a fist and said some choice words. So she’d broken the walker, so what? At least she wasn’t guilty of a hit and run.

But, officer…my dog.

At the veterinarian, Jenna waited. When she’d rushed in and explained what happened, they’d taken Charlie straight back into surgery, no waiting, no questions. That was an hour ago. The receptionist had gone home shortly after Jenna arrived, leaving Jenna alone in the waiting area. The door to surgery was closed. No one had come out with an update.

Another hour passed. Still no word.

Jenna had to move around, to get away from the sick-animal and industrial cleaner smells. To get away from the idea of what was happening to Charlie on the other side of that surgery door.

On the side of the building was a little grassy area for dogs to relieve themselves. A path wound around to the back of the building, to the employee parking. The spot closest to the back door had a sign: Reserved Doctor Parking. Jenna’s guts cramped. The lot was empty but for one car, the doctor’s.

A Subaru. It had a sticker on the back. I hope something good happens to you today. Jenna tried to get back inside, but the back door was locked. Around front was the same. No way in.

From inside the vet hospital: whining and a clipped, high-pitched bark.

True: Jenna is not a patient person (by her own admission). Me neither.

Also true: Jenna has a dog named Charlie who is alive and well.

Also, also true: Jenna is a blackbelt. NICE.

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