slow regret.
I was about 19. I was driving home from a friends place around 1 or 2 in the morning. A fresh snow had just fallen, perhaps about 5” or so. The radio was off. It was quiet and peaceful. No other cars on the road. I passed by my high school, of which I had just graduated from the year before. I saw the fresh snow completely blanketing the parking lot. Typically this parking lot was full of expensive cars driven by over privileged high school students. I could never afford a car in high school, much less the several hundred dollar fee required to park there. I now owned a vehicle. One that I had purchased with my own money. A beautiful deep red Ford Escort. Four Doors. Glorious. So in a personal spree of pride, I decided to drive into the unplowed parking lot and do a few donuts. Victory laps, angsty young nerd style. The car beautifully drifted across the fresh snow. Cranking in and out the hand brake.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a red and blue glare. Not one, but two police cars had barged into the peaceful solace of my parking lot. They creeped their vehicles towards my Ford Escort. I put it in park. I rolled down the window. They asked what I was doing. I’ll admit, my actions appeared absurd. On the surface, I was a high school graduate doing donuts in the parking lot of his alma-mater at 2 in the morning. At the moment, I really couldn’t explain myself in a brief and competent manner. I spouted out something about how I couldn’t sleep. With puzzled looks on their faces, one of them suggested that I go home and watch TV or something. They then informed me that they were adding me to a watch list, as there had been some recent incidents of vandalism at the school. I laughed inside and then drove home as instructed.
To this day, as I recall this particular event, I often wonder what I could have said had I been allowed the time to think about it. Often these imaginary responses are humorous. ”Whats the matter officers? I thought Cops liked donuts?” or perhaps “I’m training to be a professional rally car driver”. I could have possibly played dumb or pretended to be sleep walking. Or maybe I should have launched into the story of my high school experience, my angst, my disdain for my former classmates who drove cars to school that their parents purchased for them. I wonder what those cops would have said.
