Last Sunday, when returning from Boston, I drove through the thickest fog I’ve ever seen in my life. The foot of snow from the storm a few days prior was turning directly into fog as temperatures soared into the 60’s. It made for a few wondrous, and dangerous, patches of greatly-reduced visibility. Fog has always proved dangerously questionable for me, both in real life and in fiction, but this one was affecting everyone. Cars would disappear suddenly, enveloped by the water vapor, then the road would go, and with it the guidelines – and to be plunged into blindness so quickly is a terror you don’t want to know.
It wasn’t so much the disconcerting lack of guideposts and signs – it was the rush into the unknown. It felt like no matter how much I slowed it was still coming too quickly, like I might crash into some roadblock or stranded vehicle without warning or notice. Eventually I caught up to another car with its hazards on, going about my speed but even more cautiously. I stayed close until the fog dispersed. It was a relief to see that someone else was out there, that someone else was scared. We parted when we could see again, and when another patch came along I was already well-past my foul-weather friend.
