Traffic Lights

The saga of a lonely, nearly drunk teenager on his way to pick up his brother from work, the girl he can't stop thinking about, and the weird way fate plays a hand.

Traffic Lights

“Be careful” was the last thing Dad said before I closed the door, the cars keys jingling in my hand, as I went to go get Ian from work. I didn't answer him, because I wasn't thinking of being careful; not that I wasn't thinking of not being careful, either. In that moment, I guess I just wasn't thinking.

The snow was falling softly to the ground, like something you’d see in a snow-globe if you shook it hard enough. It was the first of December, so I guess I couldn't complain about it anymore; it had snowed the week before, and I didn't think that seemed right. Snow before Thanksgiving usually meant a tough season, especially for driving. But at that moment, I didn't mind.

I saw my breath as the engine roared to life, and I realized I had lied to myself when I said I hadn't been thinking of anything. I was thinking of you; how you walk in the hallway, your back straight, your head held high. But your eyes are always fixed down at the floor, like you’re almost afraid to look up. And I was thinking of how puzzling that was, that a girl as beautiful as you would ever be afraid to look up at all.

The slick patch of ice on the road snapped me out of that hallway. I felt the car pitch towards the embankment on the side of the road, which I corrected as fast as I could, and I felt my heart race in my chest. I took a deep breath and tasted the tequila lingering in my mouth. Now I remember; I had taken a shot a half hour before. S**t.

Dad kept saying that I would need to put a bucket next to my bed if I took the shot, and Chelsea had called me a p***y when my parents took theirs, while I just stared at mine. Which made no sense, because she wouldn't even take a shot. But that got on my nerves enough to take it. And it wasn't bad; it just burned a little. But they kept making a big deal about it, saying that I choked. So when they went back to their room, I took another shot, not for them, but for me. I guess I needed to prove it to myself.

I told myself to focus on the road, make sure you stay on the right side of the yellow line, but the thought of you kept coming back. Your blinding eyes, your radiant smile, your glowing hair, they were all my focus. You drove through my mind at light speed, while I drove down those roads, wanting to catch up to you. Every time I looked back at the yellow line, I saw you, and I followed you again. And it killed me that I couldn't get to you.

My car was the only one on the road, which was black and sugared with fresh snow. It felt isolated, and so did I, just thinking of you, and the loneliness between me and the road mingled together in near-harmony. The first green light turned red about thirty yards before my car got to it. I slowed down gradually, before the light suddenly turned green again, as if it had seen me coming. I had felt that. And I thought it was odd.

I drove on, up past the gas station, past the baseball camp, its stadiums dark and empty, and I put on my turn signal to turn on the road to get to the McDonald’s Ian worked at. But I kept going. I don’t know why, I just felt like I should keep going. I glanced at the clock; 8:11. Ian still had nineteen minutes of work. I had time. The traffic light up ahead turned red as I drove on, turning green as I got closer. I thought someone must have been looking out for me, but I didn't know if I believed in fate.

The next two traffic lights did the same thing, and as I turned on to the highway, I realized I was the only car on the road. That I had been the only car on the road this whole time. That if I had believed in fate, I would have thought this was some kind of ominous sign. It didn't feel right, to be the only one on such a big road, but nothing really felt right tonight. I decided that for such an occasion, the speed limit didn't apply anymore; I put my foot down on the pedal until I reached ninety.

The velocity made my heart beat a little faster, and it reminded me of how fast my heart would beat when I saw you look up from the floor of that hallway, right into me. Sometimes I’d see the corners of your lips move ever so slightly, so it would almost form a smile. But then as you passed me, you’d look back down again, and I’d be left to contemplate what it all meant.

I finally got off the highway, not knowing where to go next, so I decided to drive down Main Street. The lights turned green again, as quickly as they had on the highway. There was more traffic there, but not enough to feel completely normal again. The street lamps gleamed their usual brilliant light, and it made me think of your eyes. And that made me feel stupid, for thinking something so corny. I focused on the snow, which fell like sugar on the street, dropping to the ground with grace; like the perfect Hallmark Christmas movie. It made me crave hot chocolate; not for the seasonal flair, but for the feeling of warmth.

And that’s when I saw you, sitting on a bench, looking so beautiful, but so lost. You were bundled in a wool coat and scarf, a hat sitting over your ears. You had your phone in your hand, which you weren't paying attention to anymore, and tears running down your face. And when you looked at me, I suddenly understood what that ominous sign was; the traffic lights ushered me to you, just to show me how lonely beautiful people can be. They wanted to show how lonely I would be without beautiful people like you. How the whole world was just a breeding ground for beautiful, lonely, lost people, looking for something to make them feel warm.

The clock said 8:25, five minutes before Ian got off of work. I wanted to stop and talk to you, to ask why you were crying. But Chelsea was right; I was a p***y. I missed my chance, and if I never got another one, I knew I would deserve it. I took a right, away from the brilliant lights, into the dark streets below, and made my way back to the highway, hot tears forming in my eyes.

The lights turned green again, rushing me to my destination, but I didn't want them to. I wanted them to punish me for being so cowardly. I took the ramp onto the highway at full force, not caring who was around or how fast I was going. I only cared about the tears that came down your eyes, how I wouldn't be the one to wipe them away. I thought about the traffic lights, and how this was some sick joke, some cruel twist of fate that I now believed in. Was my luck really so bad, that it could be that good?

I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot at 8:32. Ian was already waiting for me in the doorway between the restaurant and the parking lot, and he came jogging out when he saw me. “Jesus, it’s cold.” He said to me as he opened the car door. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” I said, “Traffic was bad.”

“Whatever.” He said, reclining his seat back. “If I don’t smell french fries for the rest of my life, I’ll die a happy man.” He chuckled to himself, and I let him. He could chuckle for us both tonight.

The green traffic light up ahead turned yellow as we approached it, and I eased my foot on the brake. Ian looked up at the red light, swinging in the winter wind, and said, “Geez, every time I’m driving, the light always turns red. Some luck, right?” I nodded, almost feeling an odd satisfaction; it looked like my bad �" and in a way, my good - luck had just run out.