I don't like tunnels, they make me nervous. I don't like the fluorescent lights, or the tiles that amplify the sound into a whoosh of traffic.
I had a teacher who taught us how to use power tools and when he did the safety portion of the class, he made an analogy between the use of a table saw and driving a car. You learn how to use one safely, and you take precautions when you use one. But unless you're a real sick puppy, you're not going to think about the potential for injury or death every time and all the time you use one.
I can't help but think about it when I'm in a tunnel. It makes perfect sense that Princess Diana died in a tunnel. Tunnels will always make me mindful of the violent twisting of car metal to deathbed.
I was thinking about the night Princess Diana died today.
In Miami, you can turn the tunning dial all the way down and pick up a radio broadcast of NBC. When I was younger, it was my habit to listen to NBC every night when I went to bed. My parents and my brother were going through a rough patch and it helped me fall asleep over the arguments.
The night Princess Diana died, my parents got a call that they had to pick up my brother at the police station. I knew this was going to be a rough night so I put on my headphones and turn on the radio. I listened to breaking news out of Paris long into the night, the sound not quite drowning the yelling.
When I woke up the next morning and went into the kitchen, there was at least a dozen beer bottles by the sink. Big green 40s, little brown 12 ouncers, all crowding together on the counter top like mourners.
It's weird, the things we remember.