My mouth opened and I told my husband, "Call 9-1-1".
It was hot and the traffic was heavy, building to the point of congestion but still moving. I was driving 75 miles an hour in the fast lane, next to the concrete center divider. We were in the carpool lane, but it had ended a few hundred yards back and now cars were jockeying for their new positions.
The sky was blue and the sun was glaring off the tops of the cars and the concrete of the roadway. It was reflecting off the windows of the buildings that surround LAX. I don't know if there were any planes crossing the road as they targeted their landing place on the tarmac. There was too much traffic to look skyward.
It was so out of context and so unexpected that my mind almost couldn't register what I was seeing. It was one of those things that happens in the blink of an eye, faster than a speeding bullet, whizzing past in a blur. I had driven past, allowing the car to take us to a different place and time before I realized what I had seen was a great big smile.
My memory replayed the scene, superimposing it over the next section of roadway. First came the smile, lips wide, teeth fully displayed. Then came the left foot, clad in a tennis shoe. It lifted itself up and onto the top of the concrete divider. As the image coalesced and became whole I saw that it was a man, dressed in black and carrying a jacket. He was positioning himself to sit atop the ledge of the concrete divider in the center of an eight-land freeway.
My mind has so many questions. How on earth did he get there? What was he doing? Had I seen this or was I hallucinating? But first things first. At that instant I realized my husband had shut the cover of his cell phone, but I didn't remember him talking to anyone. What was happening?
"Did you report it?" I asked.
"The recording said all the operators are busy" he replied.
With that edge to my voice that comes with urgency, or with judgment of another person's action, I asked why he hung up.
"Call back", I said. "You have to keep trying. Lives are at stake."
My drama elicited the usual response -- disdain and compliance. He dialed again, and got a busy signal. And again. And again. And again.
By now we were almost home. To keep trying seemed pointless. Whatever was going to happen had already happened. I made sure that I didn't listen to the news. I didn't want to hear about a fatal accident on the 405 by LAX.
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