She drove recklessly, trying to outrun the grief of a sideline love.
It was early summer; she had all four windows down and the music up too loud,
and she pressed her foot
to the floor
because she could beat that yellow light,
she knew she could.
But
a split second before she reached the intersection
that
steely
avidity
inside her evaporated.
She braked hard
and stopped just short of the crosswalk.
There was this impossible second in which
everything was still-- the music, the traffic,
the sun,
all suspended,
the world pausing to draw breath.
And then she glanced to her left. He was there,
one hand dangling out of the driver-side window,
the other resting easily on the steering wheel. She thought she saw perfection.
As he turned his face toward her, the light turned green.
They each pressed a foot
to the floor
reflexively
and their cars rolled forward together, as if these two drivers were suddenly traveling the same course. But she couldn't see the earnestness in his steel blue eyes. She blazed through the final hesitation. He had no choice but to peel off to the left,
out of harm's way,
proceed to a more friendly stretch of road
as she drove recklessly, trying to outrun the grief of a sideline love.
perfect.
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