Green Light, Another Driver
MicroDrive (Story 10)
It started at the same traffic light every morning.
A blue Tucson in the right lane.
A white Tucson pulling up beside it moments later.
At first, it was just recognition. Same model, same shape. Both noticing it at almost the exact same moment and smiling instinctively across the lanes.
The next morning, he lowered his window after hearing the same song playing from her car.
“Good taste,” he called across.
She laughed. “Clearly.”
After that, it became routine. Small acknowledgements at the red light. A nod and a smile. One morning, she spotted him yawning behind the wheel and lifted her takeaway coffee cup toward him with a grin. Another morning, he lifted two fingers off the steering wheel as she pulled up beside him, already smiling before the cars had fully stopped.
The lights would change. Both cars would move off in different directions. Then the next morning, it would happen again. Weeks passed like that.
No names or numbers. Just brief moments between traffic lights and morning commutes.
Then one Tuesday, the white Tucson didn’t appear.
Wednesday came. Nothing.
Thursday too.
By Friday, he found himself slowing automatically as he approached the intersection, eyes drifting toward the lane beside him before he could stop himself.
Then finally, there it was, the white Tucson. Same registration plate.
He wound the window down in relieved anticipation, already preparing to say something before fully looking across.
A man sat behind the wheel.
One arm resting out the window like he’d driven the route a hundred times before.
The light turned green and the white Tucson pulled away.
He remained there a moment longer, caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity, until the car behind him hooted hard enough to jolt him back to reality.