child's play

4:30 AM on Pre-Thanksgiving day. The road was quiet and wet. The sky was dark with a veil of rain coming down lightly. Weather forecast says it would dry up by Thanksgiving. I do not mind it at all; there is something magical about quiet night mixed with light rain. They go perfectly together and bring out the poet inside of me. The car radio as usual was rigidly off since no disturbance of any sort is allowed. The windows were up and yet I could still hear the splashing sound of my tires running steadily on the wet road, which was just about the only noise in this private corner of the world. It was not at all unpleasant for a morning grouch like me. I don’t thaw out till well after 8AM. At work I even have a sign on my forehead that says “STAY AWAY” for my colleagues; they know of the “after 8AM, MAYBE” though never spelled out rule. It’s just me and my thoughts, my very quiet thoughts. It’s a rough world out there and I need my dose of me-time before facing the enemy.

I have acquired this 4AM schedule for some time now. As unconventional as I may be for many things, I am strangely an animal of habits. I wake up the same time, take the same route to work and park on the same spot. To get to work, there were 15 lights along the way, which I could easily avoid if I take the Interstate. Taking Interstate is longer and somehow makes the commute more official and thus unbearable. The trade-off is it is a daily battle to fight through the traffic lights, most of which run on motion detection at early hours. The biggest bear of all is one that takes you through all sequence should you ever miss it. Every day I could feel my blood running hot as I drive toward the giant traffic light from the distance like a marathon runner facing his final ribbon. Try as I might, I miss the light half of the time, like this morning.

So there I sat, being the first in line, waiting for the light to run through its sequence. There pulled besides me a Suburban truck on the left, waiting with me for the light to turn green. Most of the traffic at this hour heads for the same direction, my company, which would require you to take the right lane that leads to the ramp to the main road where the company sits. At that light, it’s safer to stay on the right lane or else you might miss the ramp and then you would have to take a frustrating detour to get back on track. The toss up comes when there is already a line of cars on the right lane, which means you might miss this light sequence, so there will be times when I or anyone would gamble to move to the shorter left lane, hoping to cut back in when the light turns green. Well that was exactly my Suburban friend's intent. I wouldn’t have guessed it if he had not impatiently (and unwisely) started inching forward a tap too early.

There is some built-in human nature, although more so for some than the others , one of them being “ if I know you are cutting in, I will definitely rile up to make sure you don’t”. And that was exactly what I did when the light turns green. My almost brand new car, though no competition to the beast Suburban in size, has good acceleration and I was determined to use it, aiming to shut down my competitor’s scheme. She did not disappoint me as I pressed on the gas pedal. Within seconds she ramped up discreetly to 40+ MPH, throwing my surprised rival behind. Before I had time to savor my victory, there came from behind the black devil screaming and screeching in speed well over 50 MPH and cut in and sped to the ramp in a nick of time.

The result is in: he won, I lost. Unfortunately that wasn’t the only defeat of the day for me. My Christian charity and virtue always faces their challenge on the roads in time like this and need I mention I lost again in the form of some colorful outburst.

Why is that child in us never goes away when there is competition involved? Those few seconds of victory or defeat on the road seem important enough that we would fight and even risk our life for it as if we were defending our honor or name. I know well that in a matter of minutes life goes on as if none of these ever happened and yet when tempted I am ready to do it all over again. As I wrestled through this mystery, I saw the crowned winner ahead of me slowing down on my right and just when I passed him there went off his disgruntled (or triumphant?) horn. The nerve of the brute! I was amazed at his protest, feeling my blood running hot again and it just hit me with a new-found revelation: My playmate in fact was more bothered than me! That realization for some reasons brought me comfort instantly. I am back to myself, or should I say: my time and my dignity, while he is still there – 5 years old, whining and gloating, not ready to move on.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I have won this round after all?