Traffic jam. Early morning. Sunrise. Stuck in my car on the A3 at 6am and google maps has gone red line on the road, it’s not far but there’s no getting out. An accident probably. I often think when this happens, a slip of time, if I’d left moments earlier would that have been me, because it’s someone like me who woke to an alarm at 4am or near enough, who stumbled out the rituals of their getting up, made coffee and green juice, packed their bag, fed the cat, had a shower or not. They drove away like me checking with their left arm behind them that they had remembered their work bag, yes, I can feel it, hands back on the steering wheel, and did I remember my lap top, phone, glasses. Did they stop and check? Go back to reaffirm they’d locked the door, shut the windows, turned off the light. Did they leave someone sleeping beside them? The sky turns pink, strips of clouds, a seagull calls, the lights of the cars in front of me, red brakes snapping off as we each accept we can pull the handbrake, take our feet off the pedals. We’re not going anywhere. Did they all leave earlier than they needed to like me in case of accident? There’s no movement up ahead, this lap top on my knee squashed against steering wheel, a podcast turned off so I can look and think and hear. And the sky turns pinker and lighter and more striped and the lights of the road go off. It will ruin someone’s morning, someone’s day, someone’s year, perhaps someone’s life. It won’t touch others at all. Or be a minor annoyance. A call into the office, a child on the way to school waylaid but forgiven. And motorbikes slip between us, they’ll know first, they’ll see – is it a breakdown, a smash, something terrible. Will we soon hear the roar of sirens? Are there other writers in other cars, laptops open against the steering wheel, engine in park, documenting this halt on the highway? To my right a van, Specialists in Air Conditioning which I am against categorically. My children are always putting the car aircon on. I am always turning it off. Ahead of me a number plate JYG. The jig is up. Ahead of the aircon van a Vauxhall Corsa LVR. My lover is not here. And the sky lightens, the pinks fade into dirty bruises against baby blue, the curve of trees and grasses to my right are unnaturally still, no breeze, a silence to them against the noise of road, the cars on the other side passing, the passengers and drivers already rubbernecking, already know what’s happened. Movement
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With these words, you have captured the universal commuter experience. What a great read.
Sheesh, I felt like I took a deep breath and only let it out at the end. That was quite the rumble of anxieties.