The Short Drive

I rolled my car to a stop at the red light. It was yellow when I turned on to the street and I was still too far away to make it to the intersection before it turned red. The rain had just stopped and the road was still very slick with water. There were still traces of clouds up above so the night seemed darker than usual.

The only light came from my car, and the street lights, and of course the red traffic light. My little ones were in the back seat babbling to themselves and zoning in-and-out of sleep. I looked at them through the rearview mirror and watched as they grabbed aimlessly at the air in front of them. I turned my attention back to the road ahead of me. I could make out the figure of a man in the near distance sorting through the wet trash at the street corner. He was meticulous in his actions. He made sure not to let the trash spill out onto the street as he pulled cans out of the bin. He tossed the cans over his shoulder into a metal shopping cart behind him that was about a quarter full. Each can he tossed made a sound that cut sharply through the quiet of the night.

The light turned green.

I accelerated the car. I drove past the man as he looked up in time for us to make sharp eye contact. I drove a bit more down the road until I stopped again at a red light. This intersection was a bit busier. There was both a bar and a disco on opposite corners of each other. To the left, was the bar and across the street on the right, was the disco. People milled outside of both establishments smoking and talking. Across the intersection at the disco, a young man was being escorted out by a burly man in a tight black T-shirt. The young man stumbled before reaching out to the corner trash bin where he let forth a torrent of amber foam. The crowd erupted in laughter and hooting at the misfortune of the young man. A woman outside the bar to the left of me yelled out to her friend, “Oh my God is that Nick? What an asshole!” before letting out a sharp syncopated peel of laughter.

The light turned green.

As I drove past the disco I looked to where the young man was. I felt bad for him as he stood still heaving and clutching the metal trash bin. I also felt bad for the old can collecting man and hoped he wasn't heading in this direction. I drove for a few more miles before stopping again at a red light. This intersection was on the outskirts of my suburban neighborhood. Up ahead was a medium-sized park bisected by this length of road. On the left, was the section of the park with swing sets and slides and the ground was covered with shredded rubber tires. Directly across the street from the playground to the right, was the part of the park that had space allotted for impromptu football matches. Then further down was a small enclosed basketball/tennis court. I rolled my car window down to let in some air. The scent of the wet grass wafted in and made my skin prickle when I inhaled. There was a bit of chill in the air.

My hearing tuned in to the rhythmic metallic sound of the swing set to the left of me. There I saw a man pushing a small child on the swing. The child was bundled up in a puffy coat and pants and had a small woolen hat on. The man, in stark contrast, was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt. His shoulders raised towards his ears, his whole body trembling against the chill. I recognized this man as my neighbor from down the street. His wife had died eight months earlier during childbirth. It was a tragedy that rocked through our corner of the neighborhood. They were both very young and newly married. They became a staple sight at the park when they would go on long walks around the perimeter. They would wave enthusiastically at all the passing cars as they made their way around. Then when the tragic news of her passing broke, the entire neighborhood came together to support the young grieving father. People came forward with gifts and frozen casseroles and diapers and baby clothes in all sizes. His house became a macabre celebration of his brand new baby and a tribute to his wife. The phrase, “Congratulations! And my deepest condolences” quickly became commonplace. That was eight months ago the attention has died down since then. He still spends a lot of time at the park but only goes out after the sun has gone down. He and his child are now both denizens of the night.

I looked back at my own two identical little ones fast asleep in the back seat. I felt an immense wave of gratitude wash over me knowing that my Love was waiting for me at home. Safe and sober. I felt sadness for the young widower, but I knew that this grief would become a bitter-sweet memory in due time and he would be able to move on. I felt some relief for him at that thought. I snapped out of my reverie at the feel of rain on my arm. I looked again to the street ahead.

The light turned green.