There are some crazy ones out there

"Is something burning?"

My mom was blow-drying her hair in the back bedroom. "What?" she said.

"I think your pie is burning," I shouted.

"Oh crap!" I heard the hair dryer click off and my mom ran into the kitchen. "It's not too bad," she said, surveying the edges of the apple pie. I think I can scrape the black parts off."

"Umm...we're running late. Do you want me to do that?"

"No," said my mom. "You can turn on the car, though, to keep it warm. Would you put the presents in the trunk, too?"

I sighed. "Yes."

Mom tossed me her keys, and I slowly walked down ice covered steps. I turned the key in the ignition, and the Cadillac roared to life. Next, I carefully placed ten different presents in the trunk. We were headed to my brother's house, in Pennsylvania, and the presents were mostly for my nieces and nephews.

Inside, I stomped my feet on the welcome mat to remove any last traces of melted ice. "Are you ready?" I called.

"Yes," said my mom. She was using her curling iron to curl her bangs, and then sprayed hairspray all over her head. "Let's go."

My mom opened the driver's side door and I sat in the passenger's seat. I never drove my mother's car, but she always let my brother drive her pride and joy, a 1988 Cadillac. Great, mom! I thought. Sexism is alive and well.

The sun began to come out and the ice on the sidewalks began to melt.

"It looks like we'll have good weather for the drive," I said.

"It does," said my mom. "Do you want to stop and get donuts and coffee for our trip?"

No, we are already late! "Yes," I answered. I knew that my brother was used to us arriving late, on every occasion, and I couldn't pass up a frosted cake donut and a vanilla latte.

We stopped at the drive-through of our local donut shop.

"We'll have two chocolate cake donuts and two vanilla lattes," said my mom. While we waited, my mom said, "I don't know why they always take so long."

"I don't know either," I said. My mother is a hypocrite, I thought.

In town, my mother ran through a stop sign. When I pointed this out, she said, "Oh well."

We eventually got out of town and began to speed down the highway. I think we were going about eighty miles an hour, when a car passed in front of us from the left.

"Boy, are they speeding," said my mom. She took a bite of donut.

"Yeah," I said. "They sure are." I was trying not to laugh.

"I hope everyone likes that apple pie," said my mom. I was sure that they would. My mother was an excellent baker.

"Are you kidding me?" I said. "Everyone loves your pies."

Mom beamed at the compliment, and took a sip of vanilla latte.

"Mom, there's the berm," I said, trying to stay calm.

"I know," she said, looking at me like I was wearing a dunce cap.

I sighed. "I just don't want you to go over it."

My mother sighed. "I've been driving since before you were born."

"I know," I said, as I finished chewing my chocolate donut. You drive like a crazy woman! I thought.

"Do you and Peter think you'll ever come back to live in America?" My mom sped up and passed the car in front of us.

"I'm sorry to say I don't think so," I said. "Teaching abroad, we get excellent health insurance for a low fee, and we get to live in a basically free apartment. If we moved to America, we would have to pay a high price for American health insurance. Plus, we would have to pay for house rent, and a car."

My mother glanced at the rearview mirror. "That pick-up truck is riding my tail."

"Did you hear what I said?" I downed the rest of my vanilla latte in one gulp.

"I did," said my mom. "What you are saying makes sense. I just miss you." The pick-up behind us picked up speed, and passed in front of us, almost cutting the Cadillac off.

Mom shook her head. "People don't know how to drive anymore." Her cell phone rang and she answered. "Hello Alan," she said.

It was my brother.

"Mom," I fairly shouted. "You shouldn't be driving and talking on the phone. Statistics say that it's the same as driving drunk."

"Oh, Rachel," said Mom. "I'm only going to be on the phone for a minute." She returned to her conversation. "We'll be a little bit late," she said. "Let me put you on speaker phone. Rachel is here."

I hated it when my mother put me on speaker phone, especially when she was driving.

"Umm...Mom?" said my brother. "I don't think you should be talking on your cell phone and driving."

"Okay," said my mom. "I just wanted to tell you that we'll be at your place at 9 pm instead of 7. Bye for now."

"Bye," said my brother. "See you later."

I was relieved that I didn't need to add any platitudes to the call.

"Darn it!" said my mom, looking through the rearview mirror. "There is a corvette on my tail. That's not right."

My mother pushed down on her pedal until the pedometer read 90. The car began to shake a little.

"Umm...mom?" I said.

"What, honey?" she said.

"Can you slow down a little? I don't think luxury cars are meant to go this fast."

"I'll just make sure this corvette doesn't get in front of me. That's so rude!"

I glanced in the rearview mirror. A man with a beard and sunglasses was driving it. It was impossible to judge his age--he could be anywhere from 40 to 60. Anyway, the guy with he beard flipped us his middle finger.

Somehow, my mother was able to get the Cadillac to go even faster.

"Did you see what he did?" said my mom. "I'm not letting him in front of me, now." For the next few miles, my mother kept the lead by continuing to push the pedal as hard as she could. Suddenly, the corvette sped in front of us, effectively pushing us to the side of the highway.

Before either of us knew what was happening, the corvette pulled over and the driver got of his car. He was so angry that if cartoon steam could come out of his ears, it would have.

My mom reached in front of me and pulled a gun from the glove box.

"Mom!" I shouted. "When did you get a gun!"

"Last May," she said, as she held the weapon in her hands.

"But why?" My mother is a lunatic, I thought.

"I was tired of feeling afraid all the time," she said.

The bearded man could now see us through the driver's side window. I noticed he was about 40 years old. As soon as he saw my mother's gun, we saw him run faster than Usain Bolt, and he hopped into his car. As he sped away, my mom said: "That's why I have a gun. These days, you never know if you're safe from other people or not. There are some crazy ones out there."

I swallowed. "Yes," I said. "I think you're right. "Is the safety on, for that gun?"

My mother smiled. "There were no bullets."

I let out a breath. "That's a relief."

"I never travel with a loaded gun," said my mom. "Especially when I go to visit Alan and my grandkids. What kind of grandma do you take me for?"

A dangerous one, I thought. "What if that man had been carrying a loaded gun?"

My mother adjusted her hair in the rearview mirror. "I'll have to think about that," she said.

I was silent for most of the way to Alan's house. When we got out of the car, he asked how our journey was.

"Just fine," smiled my mother. "We had a little bit of trouble, but my gun took care of it."

"Gun?" my brother's brow furrowed.

"I'll tell you inside," I whispered.

"What are you two talking about?" asked my mom.

"Apple pie," I said, as I thought about ways to get rid of the gun.