August 18, 2010

Letter of Confession

Dear Red Car,


I don't know you, you don't know me. Well ... probably we don't know each other. Statistically, I mean - what are the chances?

That being the case, I wish to apologize to you in this public space for pulling my car out in front of yours. There were so many other cars in the way, as you may recall, that even though I was inching forward and craning to see as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, I simply missed seeing you. Again - sorry for that.

I'd eaten a late lunch. Maybe my blood sugar was off or something.

This morning, I officiated a burial. When we encountered one another, I'd just emerged from the hospital after placing the blessing of the church upon the forehead of a good, good man who lay dying. So I was a little distracted.

It didn't help much that you did what you did in response, but I'm told that the heart of my religious faith is found in not returning violence for violence. In fact, out of an instinct for self-preservation, I didn't say or do anything to acknowledge you - even the most innocent gesture might have been misinterpreted.

They say confession is good, so I've gotten out my part. I have even attempted to avoid the employment of a passive-aggressive tone, but what are the chances of having successfully dodged it altogether? I only hope that the rage I saw coming from you today isn't directed at people who don't have the protection of their cars around them.

In sum, I'm trying hard. And I'll look even harder next time.


Purple Car, Black Shirt, White Collar

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