ROAD RAGED

He got out the car came towards me shouting, ‘Go on then, get out the car, go on, you cunt, get out the fucking car.’
Opened the door of my car which already that morning I’d used to transport materials to her studio in Mivart Street, pop into Charlotte Keele to order a prescription, and drop her off wherever it was she wanted dropping and now to get to work.
‘I’ve got your number,’ I said not really thinking he’d collapse in a heap and beg me not to make more of this incident.
What had happened was I’d turned into a side road and this was his gripe - as he was articulating it loudly accompanied by small flecks of spit a couple of them I felt on my face and recoiled wiping them away – that I hadn’t stopped to let him pass but instead had made to pull into the space of the triple driveway on the left a little further into the road than he thought acceptable considering, I imagined later having not managing such activity during my public berating, his speed and superiority and indeed moral right to the road at such time as he wanted it…NOW NOW NOW.
As I was saying, ‘Get out the fucking car,’ he shouted.
There was a vein running up the side of his neck I noticed and he was going red. I decided not to get out of the car and later was annoyed at myself for stopping and giving the opportunity for this man to share his thoughts about what I’d done. And later still I admitted to myself some culpability for the rage he expressed when I angrily pointed at the space I intended to use to let him pass and tapped the side of my head suggesting ignorance or thoughtlessness or stupidity on his part for not realising what I planned as we sat the front windows of our cars adjacent and looked each other in the eye.
I was scared and remain shaken even now. He was younger and fitter and could if he'd so wanted hurt me. I am embarrassed I allowed myself to be vulnerable in a situation unnecessary and avoidable in so many ways.