Chapter 2

Reflecting Pool

All of these factors, and the experiences of the once simple occupants of the pastoral countryside, kept Steve in an ever-reflective state. Instead of jumping in his vehicle and just heading down the road, he had recollections of simpler times. For him, memory recall or flashbacks, were like blood loss from deep wounds – the flow was hard to contain and it would last a while (and though fondly remembered, could be unpleasant). Plus, the reminders were ever present, and everywhere.

In the middle of town, there was once a simple ice cream shop with a few arcade games. Steve loved a girl who worked there, and when business was slow he’d warm to her kisses from behind the counter, while feeling the cold from the product rise up under his shirt. He’d start a steady stream of coins into the cabinet of the day, and ruin anyone’s chances at arcade mortality by claiming all of the high scores. Time and money well spent. It’s now a high priced tattoo shop for the rich and famous.

On the outskirts of town Steve used to catch large bass with little more than a makeshift fishing rig and a bit of cunning. He would tease the fish right out of their instincts and land the ones that the local experts said “won’t get that big in there”. It’s now a reservoir undergoing a custody battle. When the adjacent golf course couldn’t own it, they tried to block anyone else from owning it. Currently, it’s the aspiration of a group of investors to turn into a private resort getaway for aimless millionaires. It’s fallen into polluted disrepair.

Steve carved is initials into a tree on a thousand year lot that was to be maintained much as Central Park is for the residents of that city. He carved his and his girlfriend’s initials and a “TLF”, to demark their everlasting devotion. He’d specifically commute past this grove, as it was much less traffic, and a reminder of the love they once shared. Though she died early on in life, he remembered her tenderly, and pondered his life’s direction if she had remained to share it. Someone from his “beloved” New York wrestled the lot from the foundation sworn to protect it, during an inheritance struggle, and it’s now a parking lot. In an act of civil disobedience, he re-carved the watermark into a light pole, but it clearly wasn’t the same.

On and on, Steve would relive the experiences of his time spent in the town, just traveling through it. Every brick and mortar, and solitary blade of grass retained the residual energy of years of laughter and tears.

When traffic wasn’t a monster in route to his new (old) employ, he’d very much enjoy these times of heightened awareness and reflection. Steve wasn’t stuck in the past, he was just waiting for his present and future to catch up. He also wondered if he were unique in these manifestations of thought, and if others experienced them so intensely. In these photo realistic daydreams, he’d get five miles down the road before he knew it. Entire chunks of straight line highway miles would go by before it occurred to him that it had happened. “How the hell did I get here,” he’d wonder.

He knew how he got there, as the car obviously moves forward in a semi-straight line and gets him from A to B. But time and materiality would temporarily blur and his personal timeline would form a wave instead of a stroke. Lately, this seemed to be happening far more frequently, and Steve was trying harder and harder to “capture” them. Like dreams that move faster with the width of the morning eye, they were ephemeral. But, he was now tuning in.

Normally what broke these “sessions” was Steve having reached his destination, a point of decision or exchange, or the change of attitude to “battle-mode”. Battle-mode was the combination of reactionary measures to two contributing factors. One Steve generally labelled “merging difficulty”, and the other was attributed to “Governor Jackass”. Very analytical by nature, Steve’s brain kept things in a clearly defined and understandable organizational structure.

As Steve would find himself impatiently navigating through seas of interstate cars and semis, merging difficulty was broken down into ten distinct categories.

1. Cutters – people who see the two mile long line of vehicles, and can’t be bothered to wait patiently. Instead of waiting and allowing traffic to function, they go as far ahead as possible then cut in; holding up everyone.
2. The illiterate – road signs and signals are suggestions instead of true indicators. Though what lies ahead is clearly indicated, they take no heed and make those around them responsible for their ignorance.
3. Spacers – working almost in conjunction with the cutters, the spacers are the over reactors of the mix. Hiding in the guise of etiquette, they leave unusually large gaps in front of them allowing twenty car blocks to work their way in. This gives the illusion that traffic is actually flowing in reverse. They also seem to drive with two feet as the brake lights are constantly engaged.
4. Wrong (laners) – quite simply, not every person on the planet is the fastest. The rightmost lane remains empty, while the left is ultra-congested. Steve frequently complained that he wasn’t sure if his car even went 25 miles per hour, but he was certain it didn’t in the fast lane of any highway.
5. Multitaskers (aka distracted) – just put the phone down till you get there. Steve had once seen a girl smoking a cigarette, drinking a coffee, while necking with her cell phone – three activities for two hands, so who was driving the car? Actually, the steering wheel was being guided by her knees.
6. Getting ready for the day – individuals who perform their entire morning ritual in front of you – a variation of the Multi. Instead of paying attention to the flow of traffic, they act to delay you by eating breakfast, putting on makeup, etc. These people aren’t just distracted, they’ve brought their kitchen and bathroom with them, and it’s up to you to work around them. They literally have no concept that there’s another human being around them, trying to get to anywhere. The road is theirs alone. What’s worse is when Steve would try to pass them they would actually wake up and try to maintain their lane position and prevent him and others from advancing forward. Makeup applicators, protein bar wrappers, shavers, hairbrushes, sunglasses, reading materials all hurriedly shoved into the passenger seat – which leads to…
7. The Deputy – the rolling roadblock. If you’re going two miles over the speed limit, or if you find a way to enjoy your commute, they’ll find a way to reel you back in. As though they’ve been provided authority, they’ll break applicable traffic laws to be sure that you do not.
8. Sleepers – whether it be at the traffic light or on the road, these were people just generally unprepared to be part of organized traffic activity. When it’s time for them to act, they hesitate and react, and travelers around them are often seen throwing up their hands in disgust.
9. The Unconditioned. New England is a crazy place at times, as consistently evidenced by the ever-changing weather conditions, and the tangled bramble of congestion. When drivers would be so unsure of themselves in rain or snow, Steve wondered why they didn’t just stay home. He’d reason that this surely wasn’t the first time in state history that moisture ever graced the roadway. But, if this was their first time seeing these conditions, why did they always want to prove themselves at the exact time and place of the morning or afternoon rush? This category was also made for 4-wheel drive vehicle owners who seemed to believe having four uncontrollably spinning wheels meant conditional invulnerability. All it meant to most was a spinout that made the drive take even longer.
10. Smokers – the absolute worst of the bunch. In Steve’s childhood, there were many TV commercials that described the damaging effects of smoking. Coupled with Nancy Reagan’s war on drugs and the “Just Say No” drug awareness campaign, Steve never smoked. In fact, his imagination found this to be so reprehensible, that he became physiologically sickened at just a whiff. Lately, there was an influx of smokers and smoking as though it were making a comeback of sorts. Steve had friends who partook in the activity, and he wondered why anyone would betray their body so directly, and unapologetically. Moreover, he tried to imagine any other habit that might so clearly and immediately offend others so egregiously. But as the new direction of the area would dictate, abhorrent and self-serving behavior was couture.

Drivers all around him seemed to be in collusion, constantly plotting to slowly destroy his health and sanity. Not only would he be exposed to the fumes of traffic and emptying tar-coated lungs, but he’d be made to linger. When he was stuck in traffic, there was nowhere to run. He’d engage the appropriate knobs and dashboard switches to filter it out. But, the flung ashes and butts sparking and welding their way through space were unavoidable.

He was once gifted the discarded carcass of a lipstick ringed menthol. It was deeply wedged into the turbo intake of his car, only a week after its purchase. At Steve’s expense, it was repaired. But, the experience...