Road Rage

This is the time of year when everything is bigger, brighter, at once both faster and slower. There is a line to wait in line and if you look closely at the shadows, they are darker.

On my way home every night there is an intersection. That sentence seems full of portent, but no—it’s just an intersection full of cars full of people full of themselves. Glass half full kind of girl, you know? And in this intersection every night I wait. Through one red light, then two; my record is six red lights. Because the traffic in the other direction never fails to block the intersection, darkened cars stacked together like hyphens, each of us so sure that we are more important than everyone else, (myself included). Because dammit I am pregnant and have to pee. Prius, don’t you know?

I have been wishing for Spring, when on the drive home I will be able to see inside car windows. I have a feeling people will be less likely to block the intersection when their faces are still visible. Then this morning as she ate the waxy chocolate from Day 10 of her advent calendar, Zoey told me that rain is her favorite season, her voice like an ellipses. So I wait.