Where does time go?

I was driving much too fast that Friday night. I admit it and the fact that I was in a hurry is irrelevant. My husband Larry was asleep in the passenger seat, and we were headed home to Georgia for the weekend. Cruising up I-95 somewhere in middle Florida, I glanced over to my right to see that I was passing a Florida State Patrol car. Naturally, my eyes then darted to the speedometer. It read 85 mph. At that very moment Larry awoke and sat up to look out his window. He found himself eye to eye with a state patrolman.

And in the driver’s seat I waited with bated breath. I did not touch the brake for I was caught if he chose to ticket me. I didn’t slow down. I would have been closing the gate after the horse had already escaped. So, I waited, suspended in one of those long minutes of our lives when time seems to stand still. Then I waited some more, trapped in the minute. Larry just lay back down and for once in his life, he said nothing. I suspect he was hoping the incident was only a nightmare that he’d awaken from soon. After a few minutes, I relaxed. I don’t know why the officer didn’t stop me. I’m just glad he didn’t. Perhaps he thought just seeing him and sweating for a few minutes would be enough to slow me down. Actually, it worked pretty well. After I got out of his sight, I slowed down to 80 and headed on up to Georgia with Larry snoozing away.