Early yesterday morning, I drove up to Stockton to visit a pastor and friend of mine. I was enthralled by the beauty of the rosy sun rays emanating through and over the slate gray mountains, black skies morphing into Dodger blue and the colors of the fields, so fresh and viridescent after the previous rains showing a new array of mustard colored flowers. Admiring the flowers planted along the highway, blossoms in the orchards, marveling at pinkish clouds which hung like banners overhead whispering the arrival of a new day, and the red and blue lights from the car behind me... California Highway Patrol.
I pull over to the side of the road, amidst the golden poppies, just opening up to receive the morning rays, and squashed under the weight of my tires and the boots of the patrolman approaching cautiously to the passenger-side window to inform me of the reality of my existence. No greetings: just information.
The rehearsed lines were given, state documents found and handed over, and the patrolman walked into the field of yellow fiddleneck which danced in concert around him. He could have been mistaken for the reaper in a van Gogh painting of the wheat field, but instead of a scythe he held a pen and a black heavy leather citation pad. My thoughts changed to insurance rates, court appearance, online traffic school, disappointment and then humiliation as drivers drove by relieved knowing that the sentinel is busy with some poor schmuck and isn't noticing their speed.
He moved through the field towards my passenger side window with one hand on his side arm and the other on the leather book, documents and then I see it... the goldenrod of the citation informing me that I existed on March 5 at 6:53am on State Highway 99 just north of Merced, California.
2 comments:
There are easier ways.
I received my first ticket while working at CCC. I arrived back to camp to hear my fellow staff members singing "She's got a ticket to ride". I hope no one sang to you.
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