Creative Writing: The Glare

The Glare As I approached the empty table to make my case in front of the judge I suddenly felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Was this a mistake? Should I have just taken the points on my license and called it good? Maybe I really was just a “reckless driver,” I’m sure there are many people out there who would call me a reckless person in general. I was accurately dubbed with the nickname “Crash” in high school, not too many years earlier. I felt my fight or flight response kick in and I was just about to turn and run out of the room when the female judge addressed me by name “Jillian Shafsky, can you please state your case?” As I stared up at her sitting at her desk, wearing her black robe and peering down the length of her nose at me through her lenses my entire rehearsed speech vacated my brain and I said the only thing I grasp on to “There was a glare.” The heat in my purple ‘99 Dodge Dakota had never worked. It was something I left the house prepared for every morning. Although I was wearing my fleece sweats, a hoodie, and my men’s down puffy coat, I was vibrating. It took a handful of years, but I had done it again. I rear-ended the Chevy ahead of me at the intersection of Lake Otis and O’Malley. After checking on me to make sure I was okay, the man from the Chevy made his way back to his truck to wait with his wife till the police arrived. After he
Then she directed her attention to the officer from the incident, who in my eyes was looking considerably less attractive, and asked “can you please bring up your front camera view of the accident and plead your case?” The officer pushed a button on the projector in front of him and the view that was splayed over the wall sparked all types of emotion in me. The picture was bright, unbearably bright. In fact, the photo projected onto the West wall of that open court room was nothing but a