Traffic

I have become the thing I hate the most: traffic. I am now road traffic.

My most distant memory is being buckled in the backseat listening to country mouse and city mouse. Despite their differences in environment, their food preferences, interest in music and books, the country mouse and city mouse were very good friends. One lived in the city the other as you’d expect on a farm in the country. They visited each other on occasion, learning, adapting, ploting… When you’re a kid repetition isn’t boring. My dad would have the song on repeat. Sometimes I would listen to twenty country mice before the engine stopped and we’d get out. For the most part while it was blasting I’d stare at the road and cars. I used to pretend traffic was like a tread winding through a sweater and when we reached the roundabout to make a right we’d arrive at the loop where needle meets thread. Actually I lied, I didn’t have a single thought in my head at that age, just poopy diapers.

Traffic. It’s inevitable, like Armageddon. No amount of school, hood, war will prepare you for traffic. It drains your soul and humanity day in and day out. Waking up in the dead of night, who do you see? Perch atop your chest squeezing your neck, grinning? Traffic. It’s such a terrible thing humans were forced to invent self-driving cars. It doesn’t extract you from traffic but it creates the illusion you’re not stuck deep within. The ultimate human fantasy: pretending you are at home on your couch while your car inches forward on a winding road. That’s why “driving” is a porn category. That’s how much relief one gets when they don’t have to face the reality of traffic.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll be there soon,” or “Honey I’m on my way, I promise I’ll be there..” How many times must the cycle repeat? I’ve faced traffic all my life. It killed me, literally. My hatred for all things traffic was responsible for my downfall. I thought my dad was a funny guy, he played a lot of pranks on us. I thought I was pretty funny, took after him you see. But it seems God was the funniest of them all. He sent me back not as a dog or socket but as a piece of winding road. That’s right. I’m a road now.

Everyday thousands of cars, trucks, shitty-hard to spot in your mirror, accelerate to 1000mph in seconds-bikes drive over me. At least I’m high up in the mountains, I have a view. The air isn’t clean but the pine trees are nice. I’m just an obstacle to your job, a reason to squabble on holiday, your final resting place after a few drinks at a wedding. Or you’re not even to blame. Some asshole plows into you. The coroner is like: “He’s dead but he was sober and clean, an upstanding citizen.” Imagine having that on your tomb stone.

The reason for traffic is people like me. We hate traffic, we die, we get incarnated in roads with traffic. We replace bitter assholes who ascend to the next level. It seems traffic is the first level to reach archangel status or something. There’s nothing I can do to help you. If it snows I’ll be slippery and make you crash, if it’s summer I’ll blow you - no wait - I’ll blow your truck's tire and make you crash. Are you in a hurry to be somewhere? Tough luck, a deer carcass splattered on me and the cleaning crew was late. Guess what, they're stuck in traffic. It’s the weekend and you want to see some nature with the family? Hop in your car, take a drive, the mountain is close. Traffic you say? That’s weird, it is Saturday at 7 am. It seems all families everywhere in the world are on the same road with you, wanting to enjoy some nature.

How did that song go?

You get used to the hate. It doesn’t reflect, not from what I've seen. I know plenty of examples where one’s life was virtuous and still some hated their guts. Who cares? You’re strong, brush it off. You’ve built yourself on a better foundation, a strong one. Hatred, the weakest of passions, will raise the weakest of people.

The country mouse and the city mouse were very good friends. While visiting the farm the city mouse asked his friend to show him around. The country mouse was thrilled. They packed lunch and hiked deep in the woods. The forest with its mossy smell, soft breeze and gentle tweets delighted the newcomer. It was a breath of fresh air from all that cursed city traffic. He proposed they eat lunch in a meadow but the country mouse smiled. He said he knew a better place, one with a great view. His city friend replied he's afraid of the forest at night and wouldn't want to walk back in darkness. The country mouse gently taped his shoulder and assured him no harm would come to his friend. As night fell the city mouse's heart raced. He was scared but trusted in the other mouse. Once they reached the hilltop all fear melted away. The two mice laughed and hugged each other. They enjoyed dinner as the sun went down. The country mouse had a cabin overlucking a stretch of winding mountain road. Once the sun set a red glow washed the dark-blue forest. Stop lights gathered in the hundreds lit up. Cars crawled on the mountain road, stretching for miles and miles. The city mouse felt at home. He could see himself living a happy life in the countryside.

The next day he said goodbye to his country friend and went back to the city. He jumped on the back of a truck with plates he'd know would take him home. When the truck slowed its pacing the city mouse smiled thinking back on the red lights from the last night.