Commuter James Herlihy tapped the accelerator lightly and his blue pickup truck slid smoothly into the line of traffic on the freeway. He glanced at the electronic clock on his dashboard, 6:16 a.m. Already all the lanes were thick with red-tailed vehicles. This was the part of the commute he hated the most, where everyone pressed together like sheep huddling for warmth in the fog at dawn. Except, he thought, that the huddle moved at 70 miles an hour. There was no room to maneuver if something went wrong, if some fool slammed on his brakes because hot coffee spilled on his leg. He flicked on the radio and the time readout changed to the number of the music channel.
Forty-five minutes to his own coffee. Maybe he'd stop at that new place down the hill from work. Their muffins were overpriced, but the coffee was fresh and they had different varieties brewing every day. He could take a little time for himself, enjoy the coffee, and still be at work by 7:30, time enough to review those cost accounting reports. If he took a little time, maybe he could think through what had happened last night with Elly, try to understand why she
Jeez! where did HE come from? Two large lights blazed in the rearview mirror. Herlihy reached up and touched the switch on the headliner. Hey, I'm not going to move faster for you, buddy-boy,even if you are two feet off my tail, 65-70 is as fast as I go, after that last speeding ticket. The bright lights behind him changed into two glowing circles in a dark grey cloud. Herlihy's toe raised a fraction of an inch within his shoe, and the purr of the pickup's engine quieted by a few decibels. What's the matter with people, don't they realize they have no room to react when they're travelling that close at these speeds? Especially guys in their fancy sports cars, and women too, they seem to believe their handling and brakes can get them out of anything. The glowing circles grew larger as Herlihy's hand descended back to the steering wheel. Hey, pass me, jerk, that next lane is the fast lane. Everyone seems to be driving crazier lately. Maybe it's the change back to standard time, it's thrown people's internal clocks off and they all feel they're behind, need to go faster. Nobody wants to take the time to look at their real needs, their real obligations, instead they just let society drive their
Well, it's about time! Herlihy's toe descended to the bottom of his shoe. Took him long enough to figure it out. The glowing orbs moved to the left door mirror and became bright again. Herlihy decided to refrain from looking sideways when the car came alongside. He didn't want the other driver to think that he had deliberately slowed down. He looked straight ahead. The space in front was a bit small for his liking, you could never trust what some drivers would do, but if he let it open up more someone would dive into the space and he'd be bottled up again. He liked it better on the other side of the bridge, when most cars spun off onto city streets, and he could keep space all around him and still not go above 70.
Herlihy himself always kept to lane number 2, letting the fast cars set the pace in the left lane, and get the tickets. That was one advantage of getting in so early, before anyone else, I can be five or even ten minutes late and no one would care. No one cares anyway, as long as I get the work done, which I always do. On the other side of the bridge he could settle down, coast comfortably down the freeway, think about how to deal with the nine o'clock staff meeting since Jackie's out this
I can't believe it! That guy's using his car phone, with one hand, driving -- must be 75! And he had the nerve to sit two feet off my bumper! Who's he talking to at this hour? Man, if you need to talk to somebody in New York at this hour you should move there. One less car for the rest of us to hassle with. I can't believe all this traffic. Everybody's kid has a car now. Nobody seems to make the connection, I hear those young women in the office talking about how they want to have 3 or 4 kids, or even more, and then they complain about how hard it is to get anywhere, with all the traffic.
They ought to outlaw those things. You just cannot drive safely with one hand. Why don't they make them with speaker phones, like in the conference rooms, then you can just talk and keep both hands on the wheel. I can't believe that 95% of drivers think of themselves as above average, that's what the guy at traffic school said. Maybe I can believe it, the way everybody acts out here.
Herlihy's finger touched a button on the radio and the music changed to a stream of talk. God, I hope I haven't missed that traffic report, getting close to the bridge turnoff. He checked the ttraffic behind him in all three mirrors, assessing distance and speed, calculating how he could move out of the bridge approach lanes if need be. He could see ahead on the right the long incline of the bridge, glowing yellow in the sodium vapor lamps.
What was that dream about? Going up an incline, slowly, in slow motion, was I swimming, or paddling through thick air, I was floating free but I couldn't move fast, my arms would only move in slow time, like a tortoise. Was that last night, or the night before? Last night I went to bed early, got enough sleep, no trouble waking up this morning what had Elly said just before I drifted off?
He became aware that the voice on the radio had changed, and recognized the staccato style of the traffic announcer. "...traffic backed up to Alvarado. And just reported, a stall on the Bridge, westbound, lane number 1. Public transit all running on time...".
Herlihy glanced quickly over his left shoulder to be sure no one had snuck into his blind spot, held the turn signal down lightly with one finger and swung left into the next lane. The green arrow on the dashboard flashed three times before he removed his finger from the switch and let it click back to a neutral position on the steering wheel. As the last green arrow faded, the broken white line ratcheting past his right front tire changed to solid white, signalling the final approach to the toll plaza. The pickup followed the dashed white line on the driver's side, curving left away from the bridge. He smiled at the deftness of his maneuver, and felt the dryness in his lips. His left arm tensed slightly to hold the wheel steady, and his right hand darted into the bag beside him on the seat. This way was five miles longer, but he knew how easily the bridge jammed up. His fingers rummaged in the center pocket until they felt the small round cylinder of lip salve. Better five minutes more on the road than crawling for a half-hour up the bridge incline.
He controlled the steering wheel with three fingers of his right hand while the thumb and forefinger held the salve. With his left hand he pulled off the metal top. Winter's really coming in, I didn't need this a week ago. Got to find those gloves, that steering wheel sure was cold this morning. The fingers of his left hand kept the truck moving straight ahead while his right hand moved up and tracked the salve across his lips in two horizontal strokes. Right about here, that's where the accident happened yesterday. I wouldn't drive a compact on this freeway, not with all these trucks.
Herlihy saw clearly in his mind the straight stretch of highway, the small car in his lane, 100 feet ahead, the 18-wheeler in the left lane, between them. The huge truck had signalled for a lane change to the right, and Herlihy had kept back. The truck driver must have been too high up to see the compact car and kept moving over to the right. It was clear that the truck was going to hit the car, but it seemed to take ages to make contact. Herlihy didn't even try to honk, he knew neither driver ahead could hear.
The enormous front tire of the truck started to climb up the rear fender of the small car, then slipped off, and shoved the car a foot to the right. The truck's thick bumper hooked on the damaged metal, and the air brakes screamed as the trucker hit the brakes. The small car was pulled along involuntarily, smoke spewing out from its tires as the monster vehicle dragged it to a halt.
Herlihy had seen the driver's head turning right and left as she tried to find the source of the assault on her car, and his own stomach had tightened in fear. Even today he had a quick slight taste of acid in his stomach, as he sped past the location of the accident. The sky was light enough that he thought he could see the skid marks of the car's tires. He slipped the top onto the tube of lip salve and dropped it into his bag without looking.
Just shows you how quick everything can change, I should be glad I've got my health and a job to go to. I'll be glad when Jim Junior finishes college, it was really rough having three so close in age. Lucky Danny went into the Navy, that saved me how many grand? -- maybe 12 that I didn't have anyway. Every raise just got eaten up, more expenses, kids. Only 18 more months, then I can start really planning some time off. Elly and me, like it used to be. We don't get any time together these days, me working and driving so much and her off to class every other
There's the tower clock, moving right along today, 6:17 a.m. Coffee in 44 minutes.