Advanced Left

I am in the advanced left lane, closest to the curb. Hands gripping the steering wheel. I’m late. Scanning the intersection, waiting for the light to show the green arrow—advanced left. I’m gambling; it might not show the advanced left at all. I need to make this turn.

It’s quiet outside and very quiet inside the car—no wind. The vents are humming, releasing the dragging flow of stale air. I need to concentrate on the advanced left. The seats are hugging my posture, and the tightness in my spine is holding me upright. Music—now I hear music playing through my speakers. It’s the radio. Jazz. The sun is just rising above the top floor of the tall buildings; soon it will start mercilessly shining into my eyes. I can feel the heat already.

In the opposite direction of my travel, the pedestrian light just turned green. People are crossing, minding their own journeys. Some are on their cellphones, but all are carrying some sort of bag. “They need to hurry up and cross,” I thought to myself. “I’m not waiting for them to drag their shit across when I see my light—it’s a GO.” I squinted thinking about that. I adjusted the air speed; the sun is getting brighter faster than they’re crossing the road. I can feel myself getting angry. I’m distracted.

I feel the leather sliding in my hands; my knuckle cracks. “I’m holding the wheel too tight,” I thought to myself. “I don’t give a shit,” I mumbled. Jazz picked up the rhythm; my breathing is now synchronized with the beat. I breathe heavy and fast. I’m on a mission. This is the longest advanced green I’ve ever waited for. I just need to make this turn.

I can see the hood of the car pitched forward and coming to a complete halt; the driver applies hard braking. That was the last vehicle that stopped at the red light in the opposite direction. It’s my turn—it’s coming. I can feel my heart racing; I can hear myself breathing. Jazz is in the background. I’m ready. Scanning with my eyes and aggressively turning my head in both directions, looking for crossing stragglers. By now, the sun is in full force, burning my eyes and compromising my vision. I can’t see where I’m going. This light is taking too long.

My left foot is fully pressed against the floor; I’m crushing the clutch pedal. My right foot is on the brake, slowly inching and waiting to be released. My right hand is choking the shifter; I feel the sweaty leather in my palm. I’m already in gear. With pinpoint vision and focus, my eyes lock on the traffic light. I’m ready.

It’s happening. The light turns green for all—and importantly, I can see the green arrow. It’s GO time. I drop the clutch, release the brake pedal, and aggressively make a hard left turn—then pull a U-turn instead. I speed up in the opposite direction as initially intended. The sun is shining in my rear-view mirror, saying goodbye. I smile. It didn’t matter at all; I was already late.