tailgating
published: 2012-10-06I drive and a car tailgates me. It is a bigger car than mine. Safer. Mine is silver, actually it’s grey. His is gold, actually it’s brown.
It annoys me. Why doesn’t he keep his distance? I go faster, he goes faster. I go faster still, he does the same. I give my brakes a light tap. He seems unaffected.
Is he following me for a reason, I wonder. Maybe he’s a policeman. I study him through my rearview mirror. He wears glasses, thin face. I can see the top of a tie. No jacket.
I slow down, a lot. Finally, he overtakes me. But then he stays in front of me. I am aware that now he can study me. I consider breaking speed limits. I consider stopping for gas.
He stops too and follows me again. To the bathroom this time, where I take off his glasses and he takes off my clothes. Five minutes, it’s all we need. We will still be home on time for dinner. He could tailgate me longer. We could say there were traffic jams. But we don’t want to. Then we get back into our cars, follow each other around a little more, go our separate ways. Left for me, right for him.
When I next look in my rearview mirror, he is gone. No matter how slow I drive, or how fast. I miss him, the man in the gold car behind me.