Black Thought II

For four long hours yesterday, I thought I was going to die.

I thought I wouldn't see graudation.

I thought I would never share that first dance with my wife.

I thought I would never see my son hit that little league home run.

All because of my friend Robert.

All New Yorkers drive like there is no tomorrow. From the cab drivers right on down to the college students who try to duplicate them.

I'm finally on Spring Break and I asked him for a ride to my grandparents since he lives in the area.

He said there was only one thing I had to know before I accepted.

I figured it couldn't be that bad - maybe his backseat was dirty or he couldn't leave until later that night.

"I have to drop Aaron off at Newark."

Uh oh.

I did quite my share of time in the car with Robert last semester and learned my lesson quick.

Drive myself.

And I had managed to stay out of his car all semester for the most part until yesterday.

My theory was since Aaron, another Inglewood boy I might add, was in the car, maybe he would ease up on the Crazy Taxi driving technique and drive slow (you never know)

Boy, was I wrong.

Somewhere on the Southern State Parkway as Robert is ripping and running through traffic, Aaron looked back at me in the backseat.

No words were exchanged.

None needed to be said.

We both knew we were going to die.

Quietly, I said a short prayer to myself and tried to keep my mind focused on other things instead of his driving.

But here is where I went from being scared to just being mad.

Robert has this bad habit of turning around to talk to you when he's driving.

It's cute and shit when you are on the street and at a red light but when you are going 80 on a 3 lane highway, with the red lights in front of you, it's just like what the fuck.

Focus!

Finally I learned my lesson and just stoped talking to him because every word I would say, he would have to turn around and look at me.

I had never been so happy in my life to see traffic because I knew we would finally have to go at a slow pace.

Nearly three hours later, we make it to Newark - at this point Aaron had missed his flight.

And quiet honestly, he didn't care - he was just happy to be out of hell.