I'm Not Superstitious

A ball of black fuzz flew across the road in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, which caused the car to skid off the road, finally stopping mere inches from a deep ditch. The bumpy shoulder caused my cup of coffee to pitch forward, and then backward. The lid flipped off. The hot, dark coffee spewed forth, staining the gray cloth seat next to me. I watched as it pooled in the center, formed a river, and eventually disappeared through the crevice beneath the back of the seat. It was then I remembered the rear floor held a neatly folded pair of white pants. I leaned back enough to verify my fear. The white pants were no longer white. I looked to my left, searching for the animal responsible for my near accident. When I didn’t see anything, I worried the poor creature had met his death on Farm to Market Road 410. Before I could start feeling sad, I saw him. Perched on top of a fence post, staring at me through evil yellow eyes, was a black cat.

I remembered my father laughing when he told stories about his brother, Alvin, making a u-turn to avoid crossing a black cat’s path. I checked the rear view mirror. The cat had crossed the road about four car lengths behind me. It was a little too late for me to avoid crossing this cat’s path. Anyway, I’m not superstitious. Still, I found myself searching for a patch of white. If the cat wasn’t totally black, perhaps I would be safe from bad luck. But I’m not superstitious, so it didn’t really matter, did it? I hoped not, since there wasn’t a white hair anywhere on that cat.

As I sat there trying to decide whether to point the car toward work or go home and hide under the bed, the cat stood up on that fence post, rounded his back, and hopped down. He turned, gave me a smug look, and then loped off toward the Kirby’s barn.

I pulled back onto the highway, checked the time, and set the cruise control a smidge over the speed limit. I tuned in to my favorite radio station, listened to the local news, and then began yawning during the number one country song. My eyelids were growing heavy, and there wasn’t any coffee to perk me up. I reached over and opened the glove box. Inside, I found a pack of peppermint gum. It was a rather potent variety of mint, sure to burn my mouth, thereby keeping me awake.

As soon as I popped the gum in my mouth, I saw movement on the side of the road. A deer ran out of a grove of trees directly in front of my car. For the second time that morning, I slammed on the brakes. As my tires screamed against concrete, the car slid past that deer, missing him by one flick of his white tail. After taking a few moments to calm my shaking hands, I was on the road again. I thought about the black cat, and shook my head. There are tons of deer in this area, with overwhelming odds of hitting one. I was lucky, not unlucky.

“I’m not superstitious,” I said aloud. Possibly in an effort to convince myself, since I remembered most disasters run in threes. The cat was first, the deer second. Would there be a third? As I remembered those evil yellow eyes, I wondered.

I glanced at the digital clock, only five more minutes and I would be at work. A tractor trailer rig passed me, careening along as if he had personal protection from God, nearly blowing me off the road. With my attention on battling the steering wheel, I didn’t notice that cute little raccoon approaching from the right. Fortunately, I had enough time to swerve and miss him. Unfortunately, there was a sign on the shoulder. It said Speed Limit 45. I was going 65. That sign flew up and over the top of my car, adding a crease through the center of those hail dings from last summer’s tornado. At least I had lived through disaster number three.

As I pulled into my parking space at work, I thought about the drive in. The day was starting out all wrong. Were those three disasters the end, or did the day have more bad luck waiting for me inside? I remembered that smug black cat, the deer, and the raccoon. “I’m not superstitious,” I told myself. But, just in case, I decided the next time I see a black cat, it might be better to at least try to avoid its path. No use taking a chance. Maybe Uncle Alvin wasn’t being silly after all.

Story ID:	3781
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	The Highway IL USA
Year:	2008