Traffic Life : Passionate Tales and Exit Strategies
Edited by Stephan Wehner
An Anthology
 
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194 Near Death When the man screeched away, I thought of the police. What could I say? His car was red. His eyes were blue. His teeth were yellow. 'A primary experience,' I actually said out loud at the time. Then I thanked God. I figured He had more in store for me, I hadn't seen all the colors of the rainbow just yet. My immediate relief was that I was alone. 'He doesn't know who we are,' I would have repeatedly reassured my daughter. 'He doesn't know where we live.' My husband and son would have morphed into Gibson/Glover and an ensuing Lethal Weapon car chase. And if my dog had been injured, my bite would have been worse than her bark. Do I hate this man? I won't give him that power. I'd rather view him as a snapped bungee cord. Being a writer by trade, I've concocted plot lines and genres; an X-file es- capee, a sour milk romance, a showdown in the old corral? Give me time and I'll twist it into a funny picture book. Re- ally.Am I angry? He switched t-shirts on me, raised the ante, tilted the odds. Now when I see a red car, I'll flinch. Not enough to get off the road. But just enough to move into the right lane. As I lay in bed, I take calming breaths. Rationally, I know I'll get over this. It's random, inconsequential. But I don't turn off the light. I won't. I can't. Not yet.
  
A Spin of the Wheel Nicholas Wees Roger stands on the grass between Delta street and the park and watches as his older brother steps out into the crosswalk. They've come to the park from their house two blocks away, looking forward to a few care-free hours, excited be- cause of the uncertainty that comes with the absence of parents and of structure, but also secure because of the fa- miliarity of park and brother and an unconscious faith that all things are safely ordered. But Roger is too young to go alone. Of course, he prefers going with his mother, prefers the certainty that she carries in her worn shoulder bag-her 'park bag', she calls it-the way she explains everything, strings events together into a coherent pattern; but when he hears his brother ask for permission to go to the park, Roger knows that permission will only be granted if Nathan agrees to bring him along, and, with or without his mother, he always looks forward to the sounds and space of the park. On the way there he runs ahead, yelling. They always take the same route to the park and always look both ways twice before crossing Delta street. But when they reach the other side Roger looks back and sees Pitter, their cat, on the far sidewalk. A quiet thrill crackles through him. 'It's Pitter,' he says. She has fol- ­ 195 ­

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