The Intersection

Short fiction.

edited by Megan Haab

It’s all blue skies and chatty birds this morning. Under that, a traffic signal cycles from yellow to red. I lift my foot off the gas, apply adequate pressure to the brake pedal, and the approaching intersection becomes still. A feather settling to Earth. I set the breakfast beer in the cup holder. I double check the mirrors, adjust the radio volume down, and place my hands at ten and two. Gentle citizen.

Out my window, like a private movie screen, I see the bike and its rider whizzzzz along the queue of waiting cars. He rides straight, fixed to the center of the bike lane, a safe distance from the surrounding traffic, the way it was all designed. He’s making better time than the cars. Good on you, Buddy. 

I imagine a kids movie, “You can’t win the big race on a bike, you dork.” “Oh yeah?” says the dork from the banana-seat of his jalopy. “I’ll show you!” Squeak squeak squeak towards the second act. Then it’s all struggle and conflict and punctuating punchlines. The …