Two things happened on the way home from work Monday as I was contemplating driving the POS car into the ocean so I didn’t have to go home to my loud-ass apartment and do more work. (That I didn’t end up doing. Because, traumatized.)

I had the rare pleasure of taking the A1A. Rare because I don’t live on it anymore. In any event, I had to go back to the mainland and hop on the freeway. Which I admit I like living by the freeway because it’s so convenient.

In any event, I was at an intersection, ready to turn right on red. But that weird little voice told me not to.

I was facing west. A guy on a Vespa came from the south, going north, through the intersection. Then some jagoff going southbound decided to turn east on a dime.

Jagoff (gold car, maybe a sedan. I wasn’t paying attention) DROVE INTO the Vespa guy. He went sailing into the air and the bike flew across the intersection and practically under my car.

He was mostly fine. Bike was mostly fine. Bicyclist who witnessed it all helped him. He kept saying, “You had the right of way. You had the right of way.” In total disbelief.

Why the disbelief?

The fucking gold car driver KEPT DRIVING AND NEVER CAME BACK.

I sat there for a while. I was horrified. I couldn’t unclamp my hands from my mouth.

I mean, I live amongst psychos, yes. But they never MOWED ME OVER. Not to say they wouldn’t, given the opportunity. But mother of God, WHO HITS A GUY off his bike?

He had been smiling and riding along. I remember that. It was kind of why I didn’t want to turn. I didn’t see the need to ruin his flow. I had no one behind me to honk so I was cool taking a rare slow moment.

Jesus H. PEOPLE. Faith in humanity shaken.

So the other thing.

There’s a local reporter who has a connection to one of my old bosses in D.C. I ended up following the local girl’s blog because she and her twin sister both got married around the age of 35 and they gave me hope that I might still have a shot at my happily ever after.

We’re over 40 together now. They were so happy … until now. The reporter girl’s husband just died suddenly.

Her spirit is amazing. She’s taking some time off from the paper and blogging so she can adjust to her new reality.

She presents a brave front. But my heart aches because I just assumed that when we wait our whole lives to find the love we deserve, I would hope that we’d get more than, say, five years with our Prince Charmings.

I give her credit that they traveled and ate good food and went to all the cool events and totally LIVED. I think I’m sadder for myself that I never had that love (and never found anyone with the same spirit and pocketbook for adventure).

I already know what it’s like to live without it, and now it’s her new (or renewed) reality.

So, yeah.

Tonight I’ll say a prayer for Vespa guy, that he’s OK and he made it home all right. And I’ll pray for L and for healing to come sooner rather than later.

But more importantly, I’ll pray. Something I haven’t felt compelled to do for a long, long time because it’s been tiring not having them acknowledged. (Heck, I wasn’t even shooting high enough for “answered.”) But I hope tonight’s prayers will be heard loud and clear by anyone who can do anything about them.

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