I’d been on the road for a few hours, and it didn’t surprise me that I was beginning to tire. There had been a sense of urgency about her call to get home as soon as I could. She knew I was a good four hours from home and that I’d had a hard week and so finding myself fatigued was something I had to deal with.
The blurring of the lights coming at me was a clear indicator. I pulled into the roadside service centre and took a break. Something to eat and a coke. Washed my face and calculated it would be another two hours to home.
I decided as it was two lanes all the way I’d stick to the left and stay out of trouble. Take my time, turn up the music and think about home.
She’d called saying her dad was ill. He was an old man, he was getting frailer every time we saw him, but he’d been so resilient up until now. I could sense from her tone that she wanted me home, for support and comfort more than anything. She had mentioned that tomorrow we’d make the journey to the nursing home to see him and she feared what she might find.
The road ahead stretched out, the evening brought out the heavy vehicles, huge semi-trailers hauling whatever it was long distances, racing against the clock to get to their destination and passing me at speeds I was sure were illegal.
I tried to relax my brain but it was difficult, it wanted to fade out, shut down, sleep.
The next thing I knew was I was on the road to her house. How I got there, I don’t know.
My brain must have gone into automatic?
I shook my head; the lights around me were a fuzz, indeterminate shapes and colours.
All this frightened me, and I have never been so pleased to pull into her driveway.