Distraught

 A blue car glides next to ours, catching my eye. Though only one of the many cars on the highway, it’s one of the few bright blue cars on the highway. It’s next to us but slightly behind us so, looking back, I can see the front of the driver. There’s only one man in the car, he looks young, but no younger than 18. He drives with one hand while holding his phone up to his face with the other. He must be on a phone call. He holds his head high, and slightly back, like he’s trying hard to stay focused on his driving while listening whatever the person is saying. I can tell he is having trouble with this. His face is slightly flushed, his eyes a bit puffy, he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. He grips his phone, I can’t hear what’s being said, we are separated not only by the two different cars we drive in, but by our two separate lives, completely different, only crossing this once. His mouth moves, in sorrow he cries out. The sound jailed by the walls of his car, no one can hear his plea, but his lips betray him, “Mom!” That must be what he said, there is no mistaking it. Just once, “Mom!” but the anguish in his face unmistakable. Then we pull ahead, and his car is out of sight. I ponder, what had happened? What heartbreaking news had this man just received over the phone. I return to my work on my laptop, my brain in knots trying to sort out these thoughts. Just a few minutes later I see a blue car out of the corner of my eye. I look up. His car is next to ours again. His phone is down, the call is over, he had heard all he needed to hear. He had already leaned back against his chair. Immediately the word ‘resigned’ pops into my head, he is resigned to whatever has happened. There’s nothing he can do, and he knows. I only get a couple seconds to notice this until his cars pulls ahead of ours. I can’t see his face, but I can still make out his silhouette against his seat. Soon, though, all I can only see is the trunk of his car surrounded by other cars ahead of us. I go back to what I was doing on my laptop, glancing up occasionally, just to assure myself that he’s still there. Sometimes, I panic when I can’t find his bright blue car in the midst of all the black and white ones. But it only takes a minute of searching to find it again. I sigh in relief when I find it again, not sure why I’m so concerned about this one man whose face I’ve only seen a couple times for a few seconds. I refocus on my laptop, struck with inspiration. I’m so absorbed in my work that after 5 minutes I start, realizing I forgot to keep checking for the blue car. I jolt my head up eyes scanning ahead frantically. I search. I keep searching. No. No, no! I’ve lost it. It’s gone. The man in his blue car is gone. I solemnly return to my work, but I can’t help glancing up every few minutes just to check. Maybe he wasn’t gone, maybe he was only hidden, maybe he’ll come back. But no, this man whom I don’t even know but feel so sorry for is gone forever. I sit back realizing I was the first person to see him like this, to witness how sad he is. I was the first person he revealed his feelings to, even if he doesn’t know it. I feel slightly uncomfortable, like I was eavesdropping on something very personal. But my feelings of compassion for this man are stronger. I take a deep breath and, reaching to God with my mind, pray for him. He doesn’t know I care, he doesn’t know I prayed for him, he doesn’t even know I saw him. But it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know I asked God to give him strength, to help him through this, and that God would show Himself to this man through this. I pray he’s okay.