Distractions

I slowed to a stop as I approached the red light. The Uber driver in Honda Civic that had passed me immediately after we departed from the set of lights four blocks back wasn’t fast enough to make this one and was already halted. Whether they liked it or not, they, like the black sedan and grey pick-up truck in the right lane, and every other commuter on the road, were at the mercy of the city’s traffic controlling algorithms.

Once stopped, I changed the radio from alternative rock to the French channel. There was a chance of them playing jazz or classical music. Calming music, the ideal for driving. The pop songs didn’t even bother me. I don’t speak French, so I wouldn’t immediately jump to shaking my head at the lackluster lyrics. I could get lost in the music itself, which is, of course, the appeal in the first place. They were playing Frank Sinatra. It was a Saturday night.

My attention was drawn to the rear view mirror when I noticed a vehicle approaching. It was a black Chevy Equinox that was coming in faster than necessary considering the light had been red for quite some time. The driver was a middle-aged woman.

When she came to a complete stop she shifted her hands to the top of the steering wheel at 11 and 1, and slowly let her head fall so that her forehead lay directly at midnight. She remained there for a moment then looked back up to ensure traffic hadn’t started to move. When she saw that it hadn’t, she diverted her attention to the centre of the consul. She was reading something. A text message or something of the like, and took both hands off the wheel to engage with whatever had her. She looked tired. Unfocused.

The traffic running perpendicular to us slowed and stopped in my periphery. My gaze shifted to the light changing from red to green up ahead. The Civic took off immediately, I accelerated at a moderate pace. I checked the rear view mirror again, the Equinox was still stationary, the woman’s attention was still elsewhere, then she looked up, threw her hands back on the wheel, and the vehicle began to roll.

I watched the road, conscious not to let myself get distracted by the increased number of pedestrians on the sidewalk. The summer evening walkabout is still very much in fashion, especially during this pandemic. Spending the majority of my time in our house has made seeing people in general all the more exciting, thus, all the more distracting. People of all shapes and sizes in their summer attire, minimizing the amount of clothing on their person to stave off the heat. Exposed skin everywhere. There was nothing sexy about it, it was just out there. Something to look at.

I was maintaining the speed limit and caught up to the Civic. It had slowed immensely from its initial burst from the line. I took my foot off the gas, though before I had to actually press the brake the Civic sped up. There were plenty of residential roads that crossed the main drag and the driver must have been looking for the correct road to turn on to. He must not have been using a destination finding application, or he didn’t trust it. Either way, he didn’t know where he was going.

I did my best to keep my distance. Perhaps I should have passed him in the right hand lane, but I had to turn left soon as well, so I opted to stick it out. But then, without any signal or warning, he slammed on the brakes midway through a small intersection to turn left. I slammed on the brakes as well and was able to stop before impact. Then my eyes moved to the rear view mirror. All I saw was the woman’s head turned to the side.

Time slowed down. I took everything in. The flash of skin on the sidewalk that the woman was looking at. The black sedan passing me on the right. The rush of traffic heading in the opposite direction. The feeling of my muscles tensing up, bracing for impact. And the look on the woman’s face when she turned her head to the inevitable that was awaiting her. I was certain she saw me. Our eyes locked for a split second before I closed my eyes, instinctively thinking that would save me. Maybe it did. Because nothing happened.

A long, loud horn caused me to open my eyes. And when I did I saw the Equinox ahead of me in the right lane, following closely behind the black sedan, and behind the Equinox, directly to my right, was a grey pick-up truck. I couldn’t tell who was honking. The Equinox or the truck or both. Not that it mattered. They could honk all they wanted at me. I didn’t care. I was just happy nothing happened.

And so I remained stopped behind the Civic. The woman in the Equinox continued on her way, as did every other driver in the vicinity, each with their own take on what almost happened. Frustrated by the choices of other drivers. Their lives, and mine, mere inches from catastrophe, but not changed at all.