Last week, I left camp to go buy some meds in town. As I drove down the mostly deserted road into Bath, I saw a police car sticking out of a driveway up ahead. I instantly glanced at my spedometer: 45mph. Momentary panic. What is the speed limit on this particular section of road? I think it's 45 but what if it's that little funky spot where it drops to 35?
Woosh. I zipped past and held my breath for the next 2 minutes. Nothing. I relaxed and went back to enjoying my radio music and the wind in my hair. And then I heard a siren behind me. Uh oh. I pulled over, but instead of pulling behind me, the police car came alongside mine. The officer's head poked out the window. Brace yourself.
"You're Keziah, right?"
Wait. This is not what's supposed to happen. He's supposed to say, "Do you know how fast you were going, young lady?"
"I met you at the music festival at Chop Point, remember? You helped take care of me when I was sick."
Hmm, yes, he does look familiar. Very very vaguely familiar.
"Are you doing OK?" he asks kindly.
Does he know about the earthquake or is he just asking generally? Better give the generic "I'm OK, tired, but OK."
"Well, you have a great summer and I'll see you around."
Sure...What just happened??
Well, after I told everyone at camp about my morning experience, I was enlightened. The officer is named Jamie and he attends the little church in North Woolwich where many former Chop Point staffers have been following my blog posts and praying for me since the quake. I did indeed meet him and take care of him 2 years ago at the music festival at the end of the summer. But I'm still not sure how he so quickly realized that it was me cruising past in a little white car with a Kentucky license plate...