Dear Mr. Winn Dixie Truck,
I wonder why you feel a need to blast your horn from a quarter mile back as I struggle to maintain my balance on the seven-mile bridge. I’m fighting the winds and a fear of heights as I juggle endless ocean views to my right, unyielding traffic to my left – so why do you think maybe I don’t know you’re coming? I understand the road was built for larger vehicles (thus the lane width). I get that I’m smaller, more vulnerable. That’s why I watch for cars, listen for them. It’s why I have a rear view mirror that I check so often. Do you think I don’t expect you? Because you would be hard to miss, barreling toward me at much more than the limit, sounding like the opening 45 seconds of the White Album. And yet, if your horn blast isn’t designed to warn me, what’s it about? Are you hoping to startle me right into your path? Or do you just need to feel powerful? And if that, what in the world has made you feel so weak and out of control? So impotent? For what fault or lack might you be compensating? I guess I’ll never know, and the nature of your motivation will remain a mystery. Because, really, we never had the chance to get to know one another that well.