CBS, reported that a Tesla veered off the road and plunged over Devil’s Slide, a cliff off California’s Pacific Coastal Highway landing 250ft below. At first glance, anyone would assume that the driver and any passengers inside would have died upon impact. That wasn’t the case when Emergency Assistance helicopters arrived to find a family of four people, two adults and two children inside of the vehicle and all were miraculously alive.
It was later reported that the driver, the husband of the woman on the passenger side of the vehicle and the father of the two children protected by the car seats in the back of the vehicle purposely drove the car over the cliff with the intent of killing himself and his family.
This story triggered a fearful memory of riding in a car with a man who became so enraged that his adrenaline rose to heights high enough to fuel an impulse to accelerate his SUV to an Indy 500 racing speed as his dark skin turned beet red, a tunnel vision sort of blank stare in his eyes where it’s apparent that he doesn’t care if we crash and die because this is his end of the story that began when the silver Ferrari pulled up beside his Escalade.
Naturally, I was to blame for his insecurity turned insanity that day when the Ferrari came to a stop beside us as at the red light on the highway. His gaze shifted swiftly pass me to see what he says is a fancy Ferrari driven by an Idris Elba looking guy whom I did not see because the light turned green, and the car took off so fast that I barely got a glimpse of the wing on the back before it completely disappeared into the sunset.
It had become customary for me to have an internal list of rules for those times when red flags would appear alerting me that an attractive guy is up ahead or an expensive car is approaching or there’s an attractive couple standing in the line at Pete’s Coffee Shop having an intelligent conversation that he thinks I find intriguing when I’m not even listening because I’m too busy wanting to place our coffee order before he starts yelling at the Barista for moving too slow and having no respect for how valuable his time is.
So, the rules for riding in the car with Mr. Psychopath is to look at the sky, the trees, the buildings and although he knows that I love sports cars (having actually driven a Porsche owned by my former husband) and presently owning a sports car of my own, he is intimidated and now infuriated by the presence of a car that is newer, faster and far more expensive than his Z06 Corvette parked in the driveway of his home. As the Ferrari pulls up along side his SUV, I can hear the idle of the engine. I see him staring at me just waiting for me to look. At times he will even tell me to look at a car and I will purposely drop something so that I have to bend over to pick it up and hope that the light will change by the time I sit up leaving little to no time for me to barely get a glimpse of the car as it races down the highway revving its engine.
That’s exactly the way it happened that day when he looked at me and said that he was sick of me and women like me eyeing men in fancy cars and wearing dark sunglasses to shield our wandering eyes from the man they are with so that we can watch other men.
I’m listening to this BS as he’s driving almost 95 mph over a bridge and coming so close to a concrete wall that I begin praying to GOD that he will allow him to die and spare me from sudden death; only my prayer barely had time to make its way to GOD’S ears because he stopped the truck just inches from the wall. He took a deep breath and said that he wished he didn’t love me so much because that’s the reason why he gets so worked up when I do things that drive him crazy.
GOD has a place for Mr. Psychopath and the Tesla driver. I just wish HE would take a few minutes away from other disasters to expedite their extradition to that destination.
IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS A VICTIM OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE OR CHILD ENDANGERMENT PLEASE CALL 911 OR THE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE 800-799-7233 OR SMS: TEXT START TO 88788
