The Beacon of Light

We've all heard about the beacon of light, the light at the end of the tunnel, the bright light at the end. They're expressions that we use and feelings that we feel. It's that feeling when everything has gone wrong and just when it seems like there is no way out, there is that shimmer of hope in the horizon that everything will somehow work out. It's like the white man who got lost in the desert and as he walks dragging his legs, parched and dry of thirst, he see the oasis just atop the sand dune and suddenly he's filled with energy as he runs to quench his thirst.

That's the feeling I had today. As I drove home from downtown, I got onto the bridge and then suddenly realized I was running on the reserve tank. My heart sank. Getting on the bridge is like a game of Russian Roulette, you either get to where you're going in 20 minutes, or you've signed your death sentence and could be stuck there from anywhere between an hour or three. With not enough exits, once you're on it, you have to keep on going. As the cars surrounded me, I felt claustrophobic. I kept staring at that blinking light in the dashboard and trying to calculate how much time I had left. The cars in front of me didn't move.

Slowly I inched my way towards the closest exit. With the a.c. off to conserve on gas, I was sweating in the sweltering heat. I knew there was a gas station right off the first exit. If only I could make there.

I got off the bridge and let out a sigh of relief. The streets down below were just as crowded and as I drove slowly, I could see it. The light at the end of tunnel, the oasis just over the sand dune. There it was, and it was beautiful. The bright neon lights of a gas station. I could feel the tension building up inside me as I drew closer and closer, terrified that at any moment, my luck would run out and so would the gas. And when I finally got there, I relaxed in my seat and let out the breath that I'd been holding for so long.