The back story

Any time I see skid marks on the road, I wonder about the story behind them. Was someone driving too fast, and a deer darted in front of them? Were they on their cell phone when traffic all-of-the-sudden stopped? Were they driving too fast when their exit snuck up on them? Most of the time, I am left to my thoughts to ponder the story behind the skid marks; it is not often that I get the whole story.

The most disconcerting skid marks are the ones that head straight off the edge of the road. Those have back stories that I do not care to know. Those almost always end in tragedy. My dad and brother left skid marks like those on the freeway once. Driving past there, I have this morbid urge to look for the skid marks. There are plenty to choose from, so I usually pick a pair and assume those are them. The physical reminder of someone's worst drive ever.

It is not often that our choices leave such blatant physical proof. If you choose to drink, short of a biopsy of your liver, the alcohol will have left few physical side effects. Not so with tire marks on the road. They are a testament to the raw power that 2 tons of steel and metal rolling down the road at 65 mph can possess.

Skid marks make me grateful for modern-day advances in brake technology. They are a humbling reminder of our own mortality. I cannot look at a set of skid marks without the urge to slow down; wherever I am headed will still be there even if I am 5 minutes late.

Every image sends a message, but every image also has a back story. The back story is rarely public knowledge. It's the stuff deep family secrets are made of; the stuff of legends. I think often, we are extremely concerned with what message we are sending out to other people. Maybe we should be more concerned with the back story; the real story. That's what will matter in the end.