Red Lights

He hummed along to the radio and drummed on the steering wheel, while she stared out the passenger window. He loved this song a little bit more after they sang it together, driving home from the zoo. That was when he fell in love with her. He glanced at her, singing a little louder. He glanced again and turned up the music. Once the chorus hit, he was performing a concert to an audience of one. She didn’t flinch once, so he turned down the music and asked, “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She kept her gaze through the window and continued breathing out of her nose. Her shoulder was closest to him.

He counted ten seconds, snuck another peek at her, and returned his eyes to the road before saying, “Babe, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He internally rolled his eyes, having heard the same line from her every time something was indeed wrong.

“We both know you’re a terrible liar,” he said.

She sighed. She faced forward and sat on her hands, despite the nighttime summer heat. “That woman,” she said and paused, hoping he would understand her round of Catch Phrase.

“What woman?”

She gulped. “The woman outside the restaurant.”

He turned the corner and was confronted by a wall of brake lights. The sea of red seemed as endless as the Pacific. “Damn.” He slowed the car to a halt. “What about her?”

“I didn’t like her.” She peeled one of her hands from under her leg, to open the car window. The smell of brewing rain wafted through the car.

“What do you mean?” He shifted in his seat, peering around the cars in front of him. Nothing moved. “She was nice. You barely talked to her.”

“But you did,” she muttered.

“What did you say?” He asked over the police sirens blaring past them on the other side of the road.

She peeled away her other hand to turn off the music and said, “You talked to her.” She closed her mouth and crossed her arms and legs. The closest she got to looking at him was glancing at his arm resting on the center console.

He laughed. “Are you kidding me? This again?” Out of the corner of her eye. She saw him throw up his hands. She tightened her arms and felt her tear ducts shake. 

“We were just talking, nothing more,” he continued. “You were in the bathroom. I was waiting for you. She struck up a conversation. That’s all it was.” 

She turned to face the passenger window again and wiped her eyes.

“I don’t know what I have to do to get you to trust me. You get jealous over nothing.” The driver behind them blasted their horn. “What the hell?” He swore under his breath, looked in the rearview mirror, and turned around. “What am I supposed to do, buddy? Nobody’s moving! I’ve got nowhere to go!”

She sniffled.

He faced forward again and sighed. “Asshole,” he muttered. She sniffled again. This time, he heard the noise she tried hard to prevent, so he looked at her and found her back facing him. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

She gasped with shaky breath.

“Babe.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she tensed up and shrugged him off. The first time she got upset, he tried resting his hand on her knee, but she squatted him away. He saw this shrug as progress. “Babe, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” The cars in the lane next to them inched forward. With big eyes, they watched their neighbors move along but looked down again once the excitement ceased.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I’m gonna need to know more than that. Use your words.”

“I,” she stuttered. “I’m scared.”

“Okay. Scared of what?” The driver behind them honked again. “Fucking asshole.”

“I’m scared I won’t ever be able to trust you.” Her shoulders slumped forward, as she inhaled without exhaling. He scoured around like a drug-sniffing dog, opened the glove compartment, and slammed it shut. She jumped and looked down to see a paper napkin in her lap.

He held back his hand to comfort her. “Babe, I --”

Honk!

“Motherfucker!” His once soft hands balled into fists. He undid his seatbelt, opened the car door, and sprang out. “Stop honking!” He yelled to the car behind him. Once she heard his voice outside the car, she whipped around and looked at him for the first time since leaving the restaurant.

“Damnit.” She got out of the car, stomped over to him, grabbed him, and pushed him into the passenger’s seat. From his new perspective, he watched her run around the hood of the car, apologize to those behind them with open palms, sit in the driver’s seat, wipe her eyes, and pat her cheeks.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. That guy was an asshole.” She fiddled with the rearview mirror. Once set, she gripped the steering wheel, looked forward, and sighed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a lot of feelings in a little bit of time.” She melted into her seat, releasing her hold on the wheel. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He admired her profile.

“For not trusting you.” She turned her head and flashed him her eyes before looking down and forward again. “I’ll get there. With time.”

He reached out to grab her hand. She let him and squeezed his. There, resting on the console, they reconnected.

“But I need you to be patient with me,” she added.

“Of course.” He reciprocated the squeeze.

“I love you, but I need time to think without you talking.”

“I do talk a lot.”

“Also, you don’t need to be so loud. It sounds like you’re yelling at me.”

“I don’t mean to.” He shook his head. “I just get worked up.”

She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it. He then moved hers and did the same. The car in front of them moved. Only a few feet, but they were grateful for anything.