It's Too Early for This

To speed, or not to speed? That is the question.

Matthew clenches and stretches his fingers over the steering wheel, forcing the blood to flow. His hands are red and cracked, stiff from the cold. In the dark of an Alberta winter morning, he can see how dry his hands are in the glow of the streetlights. He has gloves in his pockets, but it only took two minutes to wipe the snow off of his car. He doesn’t need them.

The light ahead of him flips from a walking man to a flashing 10. 9. 8. He presses his boot down. The tires slide in the snow. 7. 6. 5. He steers into the skid. His jacket crinkles with the friction of his sleeve rubbing against his side. 4. 3. 2. He’ll make it. It’s fine. 1. Yellow. His Honda slides through the intersection.

”It’s an icy one today, folks. Drive safe out there,” Chuck says through the radio. “And now let’s get back to this week’s top ten in Country music, but first, a commercial.”

”Sleep Country Canada, why buy a mattress anywhere else?”

”Ding!” Matthew sings the sound effect with the radio.

Humming along with his tunes, he tries to ignore the white wall of snow around him. Luckily, he can just see the road through the white film. A black Ford F1-50 sits on the side of the road with its hazard lights on. The poor guy is stuck. Matthew spots a bearded man inside, staring at his phone. He looks okay, so Matthew keeps driving.

Red light. He will speed through yellows, but he’s not an idiot. He can’t see the stop line, so he stops before where he thinks the crosswalk is. He flexes his fingers again. His heater is on full blast, but the air still feels like knives. The skin around his industrial ear piercing burns.

”Fuck it.”

He unzips his pockets and whips out his toque and gloves. Straw wrappers and packs of gum burst out, but he lets them fall into the crack between his seat and the centre console. He fumbles with frozen fingers, rushing to put on his gloves. Then he shoves on his rainbow toque. His spiked hair flattens. It’s going to be a mess to fix, but that is not his problem until he gets to work.

But first, coffee.

The light turns green. His boot falls on the gas, but the tires spin again.

”Come on, Rhonda the Honda. You’ve got this,” he coaches his car. The engine sputters, then roars, grumbling as it moves over the ice. “Yes!”

He hits two more lights, and repeats the process. Gas. Stall. Slide. Gas. Stall. Slide. Eventually, he turns into the Tim Horton’s parking lot, following the tire tracks of the last car. It’s too early to get stuck like that Ford. He at least wants to wait until after 7 am before he gets stuck on the side of the road.

Engine off. Emergency break on.

He stuffs his gloved hands in his jeans and runs for the door. His cheeks turn rosy, like the glowing Tim’s sign. Through the door, he instantly thaws. The corners of his glasses fog. The frost in his nose melts with the smell of coffee.

There’s more people here than he expected. Two greying men sit by the window with orange and yellow safety vests on, hunched over their coffees. Their backs share the same shape as their hearing aids. Their heads lean in close and they’re mumbling loud enough that Matthew can probably hear them better than they can hear each other.

Another older man, bald and tall, stands in line. Matthew stands six feet behind him, following the COVID rule without thinking. He checks his phone. 6:46 am. He has time. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t need to be at work for at least ten more minutes.

”Hi, sir. I can help you here.” A short Filipino woman calls in a high pitched voice. “How can I help you today?”

“Ah, yes.” The man steps forward. Standing over the cash register, the image of the tall, tall man and the short, short woman is almost one out of a Dr. Seuss book. The orange overhead light shines off the top of his head, giving a pumpkin, Lorax-like pallor to his skin. “Can I have a small double double? No- er- I mean- a medium double double. Please. And, oh. Do you not have muffins anymore?”

Matthew’s eyes fall to the Timbit stand. It’s half-empty, All that is left is birthday cake (ew).

”Oh.” The worker, barely tall enough to see over the cash register, leans back to peer into the kitchen. “Uh, yeah. I’ll grab you one. What kind?”

”It’s so early. Y’all aren’t ready for us yet.” The man chuckles, letting out a deep throaty sound.

Matthew can’t see her face, but he can imagine her tight customer service smile. His lips instinctively turn up the same way. He will soon be politely smiling, just like that, when customers at Home Depot start joking about how there is no staff this early in the morning.

The worker hands him his coffee and donut, and he turns to leave. Matthew steps up, but freezes when the man stops in front of him and stares. The man’s gaze is worse than the snow outside. It’s like he’s frozen Matthew’s feet to the ground. First he looks confused, staring blanking like Mrs. Cringle at Matthew’s church who sits in front of him. She always turns her head around to stare at him, then looks away like he’s scandalous for being there in his dress shirt. Yes, he would wear a binder underneath, and there may be one too many holes in his ears for her liking, but he was still dressed better than his slouching grandson next to her in a Korn sweatshirt and sweats. The old man stares the same way she did. The only difference between them is that he is a foot taller than Matthew and could become a real problem.

The man’s gaze moves up to Matthew’s rainbow cap.

Oh no, Matthew thinks.

His scalp grows itchy as he becomes aware of the rainbows on his toque. He straightens his back, feeling the stretch of his binder around his shoulders. The man looks him up and down. With his winter coat, no one can see Matthew’s curves. Winter might be wet and awful, but it is very gender affirming. The man stares at him for another moment, then his face breaks into a smile.

The gesture warms his face, thawing the ice in his eyes.

”I like your hat. It’s very Canadian of you.”

“Oh, uh- thanks.” Wide-eyed, Matthew musters a tight-lipped smile.

The man nods, still smiling, then sits in a booth in the corner.

“What the hell just happened?” Matthew mutters under his breath.

He doesn’t move. That was … unexpected. He glances back at the old man, and he’s smiling at him. The old man salutes him with the cup.

“I can help you here!”

Blinking out of his stupor, Matthew orders his coffee then goes to work.