91 Ginger
91
Ginger
I looked away from the red light and into the interior of my windshield. It was raining buckets, and the wipers were straining back and forth, tic, tac, tic, tac , in a simple monotonous rhythm. Just like all those people crossing the street on this ordinary street in North Harrow. A dance of open umbrellas amid the screech of tires and the gurgling of gutters. I asked myself what their lives must be like. Were they happy? Had they lived their dreams, or were they the type who’d decided that giving your dreams up was what truly freed you? Had they fallen madly in love? I let go of the wheel when I felt the damp on my cheeks and looked for a tissue.
I took a deep breath, trying to shrug off the disappointment.
I had the feeling I was spending my days rowing against the current. And I was tired. My muscles were throbbing from the effort. My heart was cold from asking him so many times to be reasonable , and for once, just once, I needed to listen to the voice echoing in my head. It couldn’t be that hard.
I shivered when the radio announcer named the upcoming song and the first notes played. Rhys. All of him reflected in the sound. I couldn’t get away from it, no matter how much I tried; it was everywhere. I turned off the radio when the cars behind me started honking. The light had turned green. I blew my nose and stomped the accelerator.