Two high beams penetrated the evening darkness, and high lighted the silhouette of a young woman’s head. It had been fifteen minutes since she was forced to pull over on account of Officer Christopher Reynolds’ suspicion. He had been following the car long enough for him to find out to whom this vehicle belonged, and was now ready to interrogate the driver. Through the mirror tinted windows Reynolds was unable to determine the race or gender of the driver. All he had was a name and that was all he needed to go by. The young lady saw the Officer approaching her car and slightly exhaled to keep herself calm. Her mind was racing with each step he took, trying to figure out the reason for her detainment. With a push of a button her window eased down revealing to Officer Reynolds a young, dark skin woman, who was impatiently tapping her dashboard and tightening her jaw.

“Excuse me miss. To whom is this car registered?”

“This is my car.”

“Doctor Bates?”

The highway patrol officer asked, clearly surprised. He raised his eyebrows as he checked the information that came up from the license plate of Dr. Bates’ BMW and glanced back and forth from her to the name that appeared on the print out from his squad car.

“ You don’t mind presenting me with a driver’s license, Ms. Bates. It’s just standard procedure.”

Without protest Dr. Christian Bates handed the patrol officer her Illinois driver’s license. To Officer Reynolds’ dismay the name and picture of the Black woman matched the information he found when he checked her plates.

“Miss Bates do you have some type of registration for this vehicle,” the officer unapologetically asked.

Keeping her cool, and trying to ignore the second time he dropped the title, that she worked so hard to achieve, Dr. Bates retrieved all the information necessary to prove that her car did in fact belong to her. Bates rested her head on the steering wheel, this “standard procedure” must have gone into affect the moment she bought this car. For all the times she had been detained for a routine license and registration check, it no longer fazed Christian. At this point Officer Reynolds could no longer hide his curiosity and began to probe Dr. Bates with questions. Careful not to anger the overly eager cop she remained poised and answered coolly.

“ I’m on a business trip.”

“ Business, huh? What kind of business has you driving from Chicago down to Ohio?”

“ Just passing through officer,” Bates sighed.

“ Well where is passing through Somerset, going to take you to?”

“ Washington D.C.”

“ That’s a long way to go. Isn’t it a little dangerous driving by yourself out there?”

“ No, I’m fine.”

“ Well, why didn’t you fly?”

Doctor Bates tried to hide her astonishment, as the officer’s questions seemed to lead to some type of conclusion that would make her travel seem illegal. She leaned forward in the car seat and propped her elbow up on the steering wheel where she placed her head in her hands. The taste in her mouth was bitter as she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The officer took a break from questioning and began to walk around the car shining his flashlight through her windows looking for signs of her business trip. A brief case was laid on the backseat of the car and the driving directions she had printed out where neatly laying on her passenger seat. Aside from her map, briefcase, and a coffee mug with her lipstick around the brim, there was nothing suspicious about Dr. Bates travel. Breaking the silence Christian lifted her head from her hands.

“ Is any of this necessary?”

“ Well to be honest Ms. Bates I’m hav-”

“ Doctor,” she interrupted. “Doctor Bates.”

Her tolerance of Officer Reynolds was slowly deteriorating as an account of his negligence, and she no longer cared to hide her disgust for him. Aware of the tone in her voice, Reynolds smirked.

“As I was saying Doctor Bates. I’m having trouble believing that a young lady such as yourself is driving all the way out there by herself. What kind of doctor are you anyway?”

Christian refused to further give into his curiosity and stared ahead at the cars driving down the highway. She hadn’t done anything to deserve this type of questioning, and that was all she was thinking for the past hour. Earlier that month she was selected to attend the National Whigham Association for Black Medical Professionals. Her presence was requested to be honored not only because of her excellence in the field of dermatology, but also because at the age of 34, Dr. Christian Bates had opened her own dermatological clinic. If it had not been for her fear of flying, Dr. Bates would have considered booking a ticket out of Chicago’s O’Hare, and could have avoided Officer Reynolds, and Somerset, Ohio entirely.

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