Post by kellycarr on Jun 15, 2007 5:14:26 GMT -5
Rob cursed the slowing traffic, as we headed up the ramp to the bridge, on our morning commute into the city. Red-faced, with his teeth clenched, I could see that he had already made up his mind to be miserable. I stared blankly out the window at the rows of tenement housing, with their dingy laundry strung between the windows. I wondered, to myself, do they build tenements near bridges, or bridges near tenements?
As the traffic inched onward, the voice coming from the radio announced that there was a slow-down on the bridge. Rob cursed the announcer, and slapped the steering wheel. I chuckled quietly, to myself, and shook my head. “What?!” he demanded. “Nothing, Lover,” I replied, and turned my attention back to my window, and the world beyond it, as he raged on.
A small splash of orange, suddenly caught my eye. There in the midst of hardship, in the scant median that separated the low-income flats from 8 lanes of city traffic, someone had planted flowers.
We made this commute every morning, and yet, I had never noticed them before. Dots of orange for a few feet. A short space. Dots of yellow. Another space. Dots of crimson. Obviously, a deliberate pattern was emerging.
Then, as quickly as it had slowed, the traffic started picking back up again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. For all of Rob’s histrionics, we had only been traveling at a snail’s pace for 10 minutes. We finished our commute in silence, kissed goodbye in the parking garage, and got to our jobs, on time. I will go about my morning, touched by the sight of the flowers by the tenements. Rob will go about his, cursing the traffic and angry at the world.
©KAC 2007
As the traffic inched onward, the voice coming from the radio announced that there was a slow-down on the bridge. Rob cursed the announcer, and slapped the steering wheel. I chuckled quietly, to myself, and shook my head. “What?!” he demanded. “Nothing, Lover,” I replied, and turned my attention back to my window, and the world beyond it, as he raged on.
A small splash of orange, suddenly caught my eye. There in the midst of hardship, in the scant median that separated the low-income flats from 8 lanes of city traffic, someone had planted flowers.
We made this commute every morning, and yet, I had never noticed them before. Dots of orange for a few feet. A short space. Dots of yellow. Another space. Dots of crimson. Obviously, a deliberate pattern was emerging.
Then, as quickly as it had slowed, the traffic started picking back up again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. For all of Rob’s histrionics, we had only been traveling at a snail’s pace for 10 minutes. We finished our commute in silence, kissed goodbye in the parking garage, and got to our jobs, on time. I will go about my morning, touched by the sight of the flowers by the tenements. Rob will go about his, cursing the traffic and angry at the world.
©KAC 2007
