STOPLIGHT

One of the few things worse than being in a cemetery is waiting for a traffic light in a cemetery. It feels like my coworker Gary and I have been here for eons, but actually it has probably not been more than two minutes. Similar to the watched pot that does not boil, the watched red traffic light never turns green! Usually when this light beckons, my mercurial driver slams the pedal to the floor as if we are at LeMans and I brace myself for the earthbound equivalent of reentry into the atmosphere at eight G’s on an Apollo Mission.

Today my coworker is in a somnambulist state having worked a double shift and as the light turns green he hesitates delaying our acceleration. A horrific noise is heard of a truck blowing its horn frantically warning of an impending crash. Moving across our trajectory at over sixty miles per hour is a monstrous Fire Red Tractor Trailer with its bright red paint and chrome gleaming in the sun, jet black shiny tires devouring the pavement, barreling headlong through the red light as if the Hounds of Hell are in hot pursuit. As it disappears into the distance a vacuum of air filled with dust, dried leaves and paper flutter and stream behind it like the tail of a comet.

“Oh shit,” I exclaim in shock.

“Oh Crap,” Gary retorts with equal eloquence. My friend is now wide awake and we stare at each other open mouthed realizing what has just happened. Air bags and seatbelts be damned, there’s no way that either of us would have survived this crash. This epiphany is nonverbal but each of us clearly understands it. The rest of our lives are an added supplement, a bonus, a gift of time to unwrap and enjoy.

Thank God for overtime and exhaustion

Jim - March 2019