Friday when I was leaving work I was ready to go home and make spaghetti. It was just a night for a big pot of spaghetti. We were going to eat and relax, finally. It was a cool and dreary day that ended a chaotic work week.

I picked up Charlotte from school and we went to Target so she could pick out a birthday present for her friend. I got some hamburger for the sauce. We had noodles at home. Charlotte picked out a Disney Cars book that spouted off sayings of the characters. We loaded up our bags and headed home, hungry for spaghetti. I didn’t let her take the cellophane off of her friend’s book so she just pushed the buttons.

I was listening to her activate the voices of Owen Wilson and Larry The Cable Guy over and over when we got near the local high school. There was a huge line of traffic in the other lane waiting to get to the high school football game. I thought, “Ugh! Remind me not to drive this way on Friday nights.”

When people say it happens fast, that’s an understatement. All I saw was a dark-colored sedan pull out from a side street when they got a break in the traffic. A black bullet of glass and metal that somehow, didn’t hit us. I dodged the bullet by swerving into the grass  on the right hand side of the road. The car ran parallel beside me for a second or two, just long enough to see that he forced me into the side of a fence. My side mirror and fender helped rip the rails of the fence off its posts. It was the side of the car where my sweet baby was reading her book about cars a lot nicer than this one.

He didn’t stop. He saw what he did and drove away. He gunned it after I dodged his first bullet. He left me eight months pregnant on the side of the road with my toddler and broken car. Class act.

I pulled the car to a stop, turned on the hazards and turned to check on her. I said, “Are you okay?” She nodded, looking confused. I asked again, “Are you okay?” My brave girl didn’t cry. She nodded and said, “Yes Mama.”  I told her to keep looking at her book and locked the doors.

I called 911 while walking around my Jeep. A nice eyewitness came running across the street. 911 routed me to State Highway Patrol because for some reason they couldn’t decide whether I was in the city or the county even though I was a block from the city’s largest high school. I told her no one was hurt and I didn’t need an ambulance. I called Greyson. The representative from the homeowners association stopped to survey his fence and give me his information.

The part that pissed me off the most is that it took almost 1/2 an hour for either SHP or the police to get there. Greyson had to call 911 twice more after he pulled up. He and I talked and unwrapped the cellophane on the book. We didn’t think Harrison or Beth Anne would care at that point if the book was slightly used. She was being so good. When Greyson was on the phone with the operator he asked me for her, “Do you need an ambulance?” I said,”Well, if that’s what it takes to get someone out here!” Just then both SHP and the police pulled up only to have a ridiculous conversation as to whom would take over my case. Seriously. I just asked for one of them to please take care of it. It was light when it happened and it was dark by the time law enforcement got to me. Enough said.

I’m blessed enough to work with awesome people, one who lives nearby. I heard my name being yelled across the street and Michelle ran towards me. She grabbed me and hugged me while explained all that happened.

The trooper told me about how he had seen someone run off the road, into a fence, and the fence had impaled them. I thanked him for the reminder that neither me, nor my child was impaled. He then told me it that without a license plate number that it was unlikely that anything would happen to this guy. I started to wonder if the cop would have been as honest. Geez, dude.

After filing the report, Greyson and I collected the remains of my fender and mirror. We held each other on the side of the road for just a second, the hazard lights illuminated his face a moment at a time.  I was so glad he was there. I told him I loved him.

The Jeep was drivable so we took our tired and hungry tot home. She still hadn’t made a peep. She was wonderful and brave. I was so proud. I made spaghetti. There was no way in hell I wasn’t going to eat some damn spaghetti. As I wiped sauce off her face I prayed, thanking God it wasn’t blood. Morbid, I know. I don’t care. It was the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten.