I gripped the steering wheel with fear. Sweat formed on my face and dripped from my chin. I opened my window and reached out. When my wiper blade came within reach, I grabbed, lifted, and let it slap against the windshield, to beat the caked ice from it.
“I should have stayed at the office.” I whispered to myself. I switched on the radio. The announcer said the plows had been pulled off the highway until conditions improved. The wind blew the falling snow over the crusted surface like twisting snakes crawling on sand.
I plowed forward, keeping a steady pace. If I slowed or stopped, I’d be stuck. The only thing to do was move forward. I’d made my decision. There was no turning back.
In the distance I saw a glow. It was the streetlight above my exit. The swirling snow looked worse in its brightness. I pulled onto my exit, bounced over a buried ridge of ice and snow an earlier plow had created. No cars approached, as I rolled through the stop sign.
After more than two hours and twenty miles, I walked through the door, beat the snow from my boots and with shaky hands, poured myself a stiff drink. With my drink in my hand, I sat in my chair, and tried to relax. I’d made a stupid mistake. The roads had been terrible. I shouldn’t have left the office. Once I was on that road, there was no turning back. It was an area where help was miles away. If I’d attempted to turn around or even stop, the deep snow would have held me tight.
“How many times have I found myself in similar situations?” I asked myself. I knew the answer—too many times. I’d make a dumb decision, find myself in deep snow, and have no way of turning it around. The only thing to do was plow blindly forward and steer away from the darkness on each side.
