Martha Brown

Martha Brown is my neighbour. and a sprightly eighty-five. Martha lives upon her own; so proud she can still drive. And it was just recently, Martha knocked upon my door, to ask me for a favour, and with this I can’t ignore. Martha asked me will I join her when driving to the city, for a medical appointment; to refuse would be a pity. With Martha on a highway, she soon opened up to me, that she cannot remember when last she drove to the city. When we reached the city limits, the world changed dramatically, with road traffic thickening, and lights change automatically. But something else troubled me because I am fairly sure, Martha drove down to the city; that was just a month before. But Martha kept on talking, as on and on she sped, although at an intersection, I’m certain the light was red. Perhaps that I am losing it, tricks are playing with my mind, and Martha’s explanation, had me a slight resigned. Then at the next intersection and the one that followed that, I gazed at the traffic lights while there’s Martha’s constant chat. I’ll admit I’m more than nervous and that something must be said for I was concerned as Martha did not see the lights were red. It was the time for Martha to be made fully aware, that she had run the red lights, and that gave her quiet a scare. “Good Lord!” Martha responded, but it’s I who need reviving, when Martha uttered to me; “I didn’t realize I was driving”.