Energy

“Anger is an energy…

Anger is an energy…”

Where had he heard that before? He kept tapping the steering wheel and listened to the static coming out of the radio. That was a song from something he knew a long time ago… Maybe in college? Maybe when he was…a teenager?

The traffic was beginning to move again.

“Anger is an…”

He really hoped it was. He really did. A part of him wondered if this was some sort of joke on his behalf, one with a terrible punchline. This was his third interview with the company, and he had done well with the initial meetings with HR. Ms. Hennings liked him and the number of candidates continued to grow fewer and fewer…and he kept passing all the little tests thrown at him. And he was now an hour away from not even making it to the office.

It was not his fault. The plan was to get there an hour ahead of things by leaving two hours early on a day with no holidays, no weather conditions worth worrying about, or rush hour traffic (could it exist at six in the morning). It was not his fault…and yet…

“Anger…”

The traffic stopped again. The heat grew in the vehicle.

Playing with the radio was probably not the smartest thing to do. After a certain moment in life, the songs you hear on the radio either do not belong to you, or they remind you of how much time has passed and how much you miss. Some new pop music that seemed to be all coming out of a machine with some too-young-to-consider singer repeating sentiments he had heard ages ago. There was also jazz that sounded like elevator music, classical that sounded like worse elevator music, and one college program that was a call-in show that allowed listeners to complain about anything that entered their thoughts.

“…And you know that they won’t be held accountable. They will just set up shop, take what they want, wreck the place and then move on to another spot that no one really cares about anyway…”

He listened closely and his grip on the wheel tightened.

The company.

The woman eventually made it clear that the people who will not be held accountable were his possible employers. All over the radio…

He switched it off and looked around.

There were plenty of SUVs this morning, along with some those other hideous suburban wagons that are designed to take you to a job that you don’t like and bring you back to a home that you never want to leave. Why such a tribute to ugliness while moving toward the ugly reality of work? If there was any common sense in the world, your car would be the best thing about you, not the job or the house. And he knew that he had nothing to brag about with his own ride. A beaten down Hyundai that he should have traded in when he had the chance was not the best way to show your confidence and sense of success to the world. He had owned it since university, keeping it with some vague notion that he needed to be loyal to a brand he only chose due to price and familial loyalty.

And then…

He thought of his friends, most of whom were doing much better than he was. There were the guys on the teams he knew, people who seemed too thick to write their names in the snow and who sometimes borrowed his homework… At least two of them were bank managers or their families had contacts in construction and the government (easy jobs there). At least one ex was married, had kids, divorced, started over again online with some sort of “influencer” job (was he using that term properly?), and made enough to get caught on camera enjoying the company of a well-known athlete while the man’s wife was on vacation (too many smartphones, too little thinking). Comparison really is the thief of joy…

another quote (no luck figuring out the owner of that one either), just like the one about anger.

And then he heard something unusual.

It was a song.

Most of the cars around him had tinted windows, but a few were down in the heat. Dogs were attempting to a catch a breeze that was not there. Couples were arguing over things his imagination had to guess at and their children seemed to want to get out of their back seats At least one woman forgot that she was surrounded by other vehicles and attempted to adjust her top with a wide berth around her jeep. A nice distraction, but that was not what made him look around.

What was that song?

“I could be wrong…”

He felt the sweat grow cold on his back.

It was the song. That song…

“Anger is an energy…”

The traffic moved by inches, so he could take some time to look around at the other vehicles. There was no sound coming from directly in front of him, except for the occasional horn and muffled sounds of couples still in heat.

But the song was getting closer…and closer…

It was from behind him.

“I could be wrong… I could be…right.”

There was a very strong urge to cry forming in his mind. Here he was, stuck on a highway as the traffic mocked his efforts to make it to a job interview early. There were endless numbers of cars and families and lives around him that he would never know even as his curiosity refused to leave him alone. There was a report circulating that his prospective work might be damaging for the community.

That song was playing louder and louder now.

It was no longer easy to keep the tears back. With his salt-coloured eyes, he turned and looked out the side window and heard it again.

A van, not in the best condition, was tumbling along with rust-stained panels. Inside, one older woman with blonde dreads was enjoying the beat and what looked like a very illegal form of smoking. And she saw him staring back at her.

And she was smiling.

With the best of intentions, he looked back at the road ahead. He knew that the day was going to be just fine.