Stoplight

I pulled up behind your car at a stoplight. You were in a white Mercedes, dingy from the winter salt and dirt of sloshed and melting snow.

You had leather interior. You had better things to do, and more important places to be.

Beastie Boys were blaring in my car. The fabric in my car was typical of what every car has that’s not leather. Nothing special. I had a booster seat. Used kleenexes. Remnants of Goldfish crackers.

Whatcha whatcha whatcha want, whatcha want!

This was a long red light. For the love of everything holy.

It had been a long day. A lot of traffic on the highway. I have stopped counting the amount of LED red I have seen.

I let out an overly dramatic sigh — as if anyone could see or hear my frustrations. Either way, it didn’t matter. I am sure everyone was feeling this way, as more cars braked and lined up behind me, waiting for the green.

Your window rolled down. Tinted of course. Out flicked the cigarette butt you had just finished. Your wrists flung it as easily as the butt hit the ground, smoke still rising.

I looked at it, right on the yellow line dividing the cars standing, and the cars going.

I slowly pushed the four ways lights. I gently compressed the parking brake. I lifted my chin as I opened my car door, and walked forward, left foot then right, to the cigarette butt. I wasn’t worried about the light changing. It would be red for a long time still.

I pulled the black dollar store stretchy gloves over my fingers, wiggling them to ensure a good fit and comfort. I didn’t look for your reaction. I just picked up the cigarette butt and tapped three times, firmly and with purpose, on your driver’s side window.

Now you looked at me oddly. Eyebrows somewhere between what the *%#$ and you must be insane. I waited for you to roll the window down. I am holding the cigarette butt out in front of both of us. Like a sceptre of truth. A long lost tome.

Your window comes down a fraction.

I nod, throw the butt into your open window (thank goodness for good aim), and turn on my heel back to my car.

I didn’t look for your reaction in the car. I exhaled as I turned off the four ways, put the car back into drive, and pressed the gas pedal as the light

finally

turned

green.