Roundabout

These Southerners didn’t know a thing about traffic circles. The unnecessary stopping, the signaling, the inching forward then stopping. Just make up your mind, and go, people. Traffic circles were to keep things moving, for heaven’s sake. Good thing they hadn’t put in multi-lane traffic circles yet–that would certainly give them a heart attack. 

And the name: they were traffic circles, not roundabouts. Roundabouts sounded like a walk in the park, a slow promenade around a pond full of ducks. But of course that would be their style. They were not yet used to these concrete racetracks, hunched shoulders, or real city driving. 

Lionel had moved here for work five years ago, when HQ moved down to Research Triangle Park–he guessed everything was a park–and he had mixed feelings on the whole endeavor. Summers will be nice, they said. It’s a growing area, they said. Think of the barbeque and Cheerwine, they said. 

Summers were hot, and he couldn’t deny the area was growing, but there was an awful lot of construction. Carolina barbeque was good, he admitted, but what the heck was Cheerwine? He had yet to try it. 

He sighed, and remembered a conversation he had with his cousin Diane a few days ago. She had seemed to think that he was depressed. Why would she come to that conclusion?

“Maybe you should take a vacation,” Diane had said. He could picture her leaning back in her desk chair at the other end of the line, her feet slipped out of her heels and crossed comfortably beneath her desk lamp. “Go to the beach? Isn’t it only a few hours away?”

“I hate the beach,” he replied. “Sand is such a nuisance.”

Diane was unfazed. “The mountains, then. Just drive in the other direction for the same amount of time! Asheville is a lovely town. Book yourself a nice little bed-and-breakfast, go on a hike, or drive to the top of a mountain if you’re not up to hiking, the view is to die for…”

“No vacations, Diane. I’m fine.”

“But are you really, Lionel?” Her voice had softened then. He could tell she had taken her feet off the desk. 

He sighed. “I’m fine, Diane. But thanks for asking.”

“If you say so. But look, Lionel, no vacations, but maybe you can go into town sometime? Explore Raleigh or Durham, go find some local craft beer or something, I know it’s not New York, but if you actually learn about the area…”

“Thanks, Diane.” He meant it. He knew how much his cousin cared.

“Well, you know I’m always here if you want to come visit. Or if you want me to visit! Mark and I have enough vacation days to last a lifetime, you know how I never take off work…”

“I’ll let you know. Take care.” And they had hung up, his phone glowing and silent.

He sighed again, and returned to attention to his current activity: sitting on a park bench facing a traffic circle. This was such a terrible spot. It was directly in the sun, too–on the radio he had heard that it was the hottest day of the year–and he had already sweated through his shirt. Gross. Why had he chosen it? So he could judge these motorists and their well-intentioned but misguided driving decisions? Clearly, he had not been thinking.

He was not depressed. True, he was thirty-eight and single, but that wasn’t a problem. He had his cats, Frederick and Milo, and his plants: a vivacious mint plant named Esmeralda, a spider plant that propagated like a rabbit in the spring, and two cacti, Bert and Ernie, who were not to be separated. He had his work, as an accountant in HQ, and he liked his job. Despite his demeanor, he was actually a good boss, or at least his colleagues thought so, or else that plaque in his office was a sham. 

He was not depressed. But, he realized, as he took in the flutter of the oak leaves and the glint of the sun off the cars in the traffic circle, he was lonely. 

Between the bench and the traffic circle was a small grassy field where local residents often let their dogs run loose, high school boys played ultimate frisbee, and young families had picnics. Today, a few women were throwing tennis balls and squeaky toys for their dogs, a black-and-white border collie, a remarkably fit pug, and a happy golden lab. Really all of the dogs looked happy. Happier than him, probably. 

But Lionel was not depressed, and there were likely more happy dogs than happy humans in the world, so the higher relative happiness of these dogs did not say much. 

He watched the dogs for a few minutes, saw how they jumped and ran and wagged their tails. How the collie rolled over for her owner, Crystal, a Black woman with gorgeous hair who lived on the first floor of his apartment complex. How the pug held his squeaky bone between his teeth, coating it with a patina of saliva. How the lab was gentle with the neighborhood kids who stopped by in their strollers. 

Crystal had walked over towards Liz, another resident of the apartment, smiling. He noticed how they leaned against each other, laughing, Crystal’s dark hand wrapped around Liz’s pale wrist, Liz clutching Crystal’s back. Given how they shared these small touches, a brush of hips, hands reaching to pick up the same tennis ball tangled a second too long, he wondered if they were dating. They would make a cute couple. 

A chunky Chow Chow entered the field with her owner, an Indian woman Lionel had never seen before. She was wearing a long, pink dress, and her dark hair was gathered in a waist-length braid. Crystal greeted her with a hug and introduced her to Liz. 

He saw the wonder of these ordinary moments, and felt the emptiness inside him. The jealousy–was he even jealous any more, or just tired?–wasn’t for physical intimacy, no, just for friendship, for meaningful connection. How was it that after five years in this place, he had nothing more than colleagues and neighbors, people he nodded at in the hall? After all this time, how was it that he only had his plants and his two cats? 

Only Diane understood this. Dang. He hated when he got philosophical. 

In the park, the dogs ran on. In the traffic circle, the Southerners drove by lazily. Above, the sun shined uncaringly. 

What was there but this? Was life a park, and was he destined to walk on its lonely footpath, sit on this solitary bench?

Lionel got up from the bench. D*mn it all. He would go home, put on Netflix, and feed Frederick and Milo. He would look at non-sandy vacation options and maybe make some reservations and never come back to this wretched park with its wretched traffic circle and its lonely, wretched bench. He would–

He was running before he had the chance to think. He saw the blur of the chow’s coat and the fluff of the squirrel’s tail and the streak of the car in the traffic circle, and he was off like the Flash. Because of course the squirrel would make it across the street and the chow would not, because of course the driver wouldn’t stop, and Lionel could see it happening, he could see it. He could already hear the sirens and the owner’s wail merging into one long scream, and it played in his ears like a haunted race track bell…

He dove, and his arms landed around the chow.

He breathed a sigh of relief and felt the grass tickle his ears. Thankfully, he had stopped the chow before it reached the pavement. 

Lionel did not know what he expected to hear after he saved the chow. Maybe applause, maybe a chorus of thank yous, maybe crying. Maybe nothing. 

But not chuckling.

Not the low, stifled chuckling that he heard from above him. 

Because he was not a few inches from the pavement. Heck, he hasn’t even a few feet. He was just a little past the center of the field, and the women were standing around him, suppressing grins.

“Thank you for saving Chi-Chi,” the Indian woman said. “She’s much too fond of squirrels, and who knows where she would have stopped.” She grinned. “Though you relieved me of that dilemma.” She extended her hand to help him up. “I’m Lakshmi.” 

Lionel untangled his arms from Chi-Chi and accepted Lakshmi’s hand, his face burning. “Yes, well, I–” he paused searching for the right words. “I seem to have a subconscious fear of traffic circles.”

Crystal laughed, the sound big and hearty. “I’m not a huge fan myself,” said Lakshmi. “But you know what? I think I’ve had enough of the park for one day. Crystal, Liz, and I were just talking about grabbing dinner and drinks. Care to join us?”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Lionel said, brushing off his pants. His bright red balloon face calmed to a more reasonable pink. Lionel looked at these women, at these wonderful, welcoming people, and their happy dogs, at Chi-Chi’s wagging tail and the slobber dripping from the lab’s smile. In the traffic circle, the cars went by more lazily than ever. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to take it slow, or to talk to strangers. “Drinks are on me.”