Commutication

She’s late.  “Go.”  Out into the drizzle, in a hurried half-jog, important papers shielding important hairdo from the damp that California’s empty reservoirs so dearly need.  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” The car starts on the first try (“YES!”) and Renee Montagne’s authoritative voice introduces a piece about Mattel’s strategy for selling Barbies in Shanghai.  “Christ.”  The radio story’s focus on the absurdly proportioned doll sends her left hand to her waistline, where she absent-mindedly adjusts the tuck of her silk shirt and pinches the bulge just above the waist of her pants.  “gym tonight.”  Her right hand deftly steers the wheel and the car pulls a bit abruptly out of a driveway to the left, barely missing a spandex-clad cyclist who raps his right hand against her rear window as he passes silenty. “shit. shit, shit, SHIT.”  She’ll be about 13 minutes late for work today.

This morning is business as usual for the cyclist, who is bundled up to keep out the misting rain.  His front wheel emits a visible spray of water from the shiny asphalt as he glides past a long line of cars.  He is about 20 miles into a 50 mile morning, and has drained the first of his two water bottles.  Up ahead the road narrows.  A minivan will hover on his rear wheel there, angering the BMW driver behind.  Eventually, into a blind turn, the bimmer will test its mettle, squealing the high performance tires against the slick street, and pass the cyclist close enough for him to hear the string of epithets that its driver has concocted from within his steel-encased haven of hypertension.

The bimmer is 19 minutes late for its destination.  The cyclist will be on the road for another hour after that, but the road will be different then, devoid of BMWs.  As the post commute quiet sets in, the cyclist’s shoulders come unhunched, his pedal-stroke smooths, and his gleaming silver bicycle sails up and down the unincorporated county hillside.  He has only one thought about the drivers he encountered that morning.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t join me.”