The (Road)Rage from Within

I hadn't dated John that long, maybe six weeks. I was delighted when he suggested we go to the theater. I haven't ever dated anyone who wanted to actually go to the theater with me (let alone the opera where I have never been and would be completely swept off my feet if a man suggested taking me...*swoon*). I was taken aback and thrilled at the prospect. I thought that perhaps I had finally met someone with a little class...some interest in subjects other than football and beer...perhaps someone who even managed to properly wipe his ass! What a lucky girl I was!

We drove into town, preparing to take the freeway. I remember the weather was decent; it was still winter but the sun was out and I recall being in an overall good mood. As he accelerated down the ramp he saw a woman, already on the freeway, who was going to be in his way. Rather than back off a bit and let her by (which, I believe, is what a person is supposed to do when getting onto the freeway), he sped up and cut her off. I thought we were going to hit her!

She became upset and while I can't swear that she flipped him off, it seems familiar that she did. Well, that out and out pissed off John. Instead of laughing it off, he became enraged. His already pale skin turned into a red color as his temper rose and rose; there was a vein in his forehead... He motioned to her as if he were going to bump her mini van. Or run her down, drag her soccer mom ass out of the van and curb stomp the bitch on the side of the freeway.

I was terrified.

I started to cry and told him to stop...to leave it alone and just get away from her (because she was no peach herself; she was ready to play the road rage game herself!). But he wouldn't give it up. It was as if he couldn't hear me. So despite crying and, at this point screaming, he was far too focused on "winning" against the other driver.

I envisioned him beating me down in a fit of rage some time when he didn't get his way. Would he use a baseball bat? Definitely not a gun - that doesn't allow for enough rage to get out. Of course, if he emptied several rounds into me that might quell his thirst for violence. I know I shouldn't joke but the episode of road rage was writing on the wall that more immediate abuse might follow.

I dumped him 2 weeks later.

A couple of Saturdays after I broke it off, he spent an entire day texting me about how I am such a horrible bitch, that I'm crazy...that I don't know anything...etc. I'm pretty sure he was drunk. And since he had called several times before I turned my ringer off, I knew he was driving. So he was pissed. And driving. AND drunk.

Finally, after the threat of calling the police, he stopped.

One of his dearest friends informed me, several months later, that she knew it wasn't going to work out between him and me as I was too stable and sane for him.

(How I wish I could say I was making this up...)