It's Personal: A Trip to Church

Welcome back, readers. After what turned out to be a three-week hiatus - Sporting Rants & Raves excluded, of course - I have returned with new and exciting - or maybe not so exciting - attempts at intriguing and / or boring you to tears. And so, without further ado, I give to you a story having to do with a recent trip to Church.

I go on Sundays - go figure - to St. James Cathedral in Seattle. I prefer high mass with all the bells, whistles, and - occasionally - holy smoke. Otherwise known as incense. As with every other Sunday morning in recent memory, I woke at approximately 7 a.m. and stayed in bed to read. I arose from the warmth of the bed at 8:30 and began to prepare. Arranging the clothes, showering, playing Mafia Wars, and the like.

I got into my car at 9:30 a.m. and made my way to I-5. For those of you who know the area, I enter the interstate from Boeing Access Road. For those of you unfamiliar, I'll give a brief description. I sit at a stoplight facing west. When the stoplight turns green, I take a left - going south for no more than an eighth of a mile - and then begin driving around a loop that turned me 180 degrees. I then have to merge into a a left lane while cars exiting at that exit merge into the right lane. It reminds me of many New Jersey exits - at least on the Turnpike.

That sets the stage. So, there I was merging into that left lane and ready to merge fully onto the highway. At 9:40 a.m. on a Sunday. I see ahead of me a PT Cruiser being tailgated by an off-white sedan, the make of which I do not recall. Suddenly, I see - do not hear for whatever reason - the PT Cruiser lurch forward awkwardly. I notice a broken right tail light. Then, I see the sedan swerve, fishtailing in the middle of I-5. If any other car had been there, it would have been a very serious accident. But, thankfully, there were no oncoming cars. Just me merging onto the road. The sedan finally comes to a stop horizontally across the center two lanes.

I slow a tad, wondering if I'm about to witness a train wreck. I don't. But I do witness the sedan spin its wheels enough to cause a significant amount of tire smoke just before it launches down the highway. I instinctively press the gas and glance at the Texas license plate. I memorize the number before he catapults down the road. I choose not to chase.

But a couple cars do, including a blue Durango.

And then I drive. A bit shocked by what I had just witnessed, I simply glide along on autopilot towards the James Street exit. Going through my mind? Should I or shouldn't I call? On the one hand, I don't want to get involved. No one was really hurt. And that guy will get his. Karma will do its worst. On the other hand, I wonder if it's somehow my civic duty. I start lecturing myself about being a good member of society.

That war wages until I find a parking spot. I consider what to do. I look up to the twin spires of the cathedral and just know that I have to call. I didn't ask what Jesus would do. I didn't pray about it, specifically. I just knew that calling was the right answer. So, I dial 911 on the cell and explain what I have seen. It seems I wasn't the first person to call. But I was the only one with the license plate number.

I didn't get a call back. But I did feel as though I had done the right thing...