Driving to work on a Monday morning

Monday morning 8 a.m., cloudless, infinite sky, and here I am stuck in traffic and late for work even before I left the house -- with hair still damp, and new shirt sporting a bright glob of toothpaste. 

Fuel light blinking. Of course. Exited the highway and filled the tank at a convenience store. Got a jumbo size coffee for a buck, though. The day wasn’t starting off totally bad.  Thought about calling work and saying I’d be a few minutes late. But why bother? I could always sneak in the back and no one would notice. 

“Yes I know full well that I have a glob of toothpaste on my new silk shirt, thank you,” spoken to the cashier with all the patience left in my body and a phony smile as big as the coffee. 

Back on the highway. Stop. Go. Slam brakes when cut off by moron in dented Camaro with a “Fat Chicks Suck “ sticker in the rear window. Wave to driver behind me gifting me with the one-finger salute.  Breathe. Drive. Stop. Go. 

Three miles ahead is the exit for work. Six miles past that, the highway cuts  into New York, then Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and then all those big middle states, all the way to the Pacific Northwest.  

Cars close in on each side. I wonder what on earth is going on with this traffic. I should call work and say I’ll be late. Why chance disrespecting the system by sneaking in and getting caught?  Only two years to retirement. Why bring unnecessary drama into the picture this late in the game?

 

The SUV to the left is so close I could reach out and touch it. To the right, the driver holds a cell phone to her ear with her shoulder. In one hand is a lit butt. In the other, a jumbo coffee,  like mine. She’s steering with her knees and blowing bubbles with her chewing gum, to boot. That’s talent. I can’t even brush my teeth without dropping something.    

In the distance, a mess of flashing red lights and blue lights. An officer directs traffic. Correction --  several officers. We’re directed into the breakdown lane and we slow until we’re almost stopped, all of us craning our necks to see the accident. 

I recognize one of the cars. What’s left of it anyhow. It’s a lemon yellow two-door, the front crumpled all the way to the driver’s seat. All the windows are shattered, but I know that license plate, and can read the sticker on the rear bumper. It’s a series of notes on a staff and says, “If you can read this, thank a music teacher.” There are three other cars, all smashed up too. I see my friend on a gurney, emergency workers swarming around her. There’s blood everywhere. When the idiot driver behind me blares his horn,  half my jumbo coffee spills into my lap. 

As the road opens back up to four lanes, I pick up speed. Last time we talked was her retirement party the month before. She was selling her house. Had put a down payment on a trailer, one of those silver ones that look like tubes. She had big plans to travel the country, and eventually settle down somewhere new. Some place with a view, like Washington or maybe somewhere in northern California. I told her I always wanted to visit that part of the country and to get a place with a spare bedroom so I could visit when I retired. She said, "Why not retire now? You've got the time in. What's another ten percent of salary compared to living your life?" I don't remember what I said next. 

.

The odometer says I’m doing 80. It takes me a minute to realize I missed the exit for work, which was several miles back. I could still make it in pretty quickly. I’d only be a few minutes late, and everyone would understand, given the circumstances. 

I call my job and before I can stop myself say, "I won’t be in today." I find myself coughing, for extra effect.I deserve an Emmy.

I head west. My fuel gauge says I can get close to 400 miles on this one tank of gas, all the way to the Pennsylvania border.  That’ll give me plenty of time to think about what I’ll do next.The road is wide open. The sky bluer than I've ever seen before. I fiddle with the radio dial until I find a song with a good strong beat and words I know by heart, and as I drive, I sing. 

Nanowrimo prompt #5: story takes place on a Monday