Car horns blared around her, the sound of each one bouncing off the last, jumping from her left ear to her right, now behind her, now in front, screaming into the hot morning air, the sound somehow making it even hotter. It was barely March – it wasn’t supposed to be this hot. Beads of sweat were forming along her smooth brown forehead. She looked at the clock embedded in the dash. The digital black numbers flickered as the number grew: 8:53 A.M.
“Shit,” she said to herself.
She gripped the wheel tighter and looked up at the steady red glow from the hundreds of brake lights surrounding her, each bulb yet another brick in the immovable wall standing between her and the courthouse. The fabric of her white long sleeve shirt started to stick to the small of her back. Her legs began to feel trapped in their starched blue pants. Why did it have to be so hot today?
She stared at the traffic light that hung in front of her. There was just two cars between her and the crosswalk. A small grey pickup truck with tools hanging off the sides and a neat white sedan. She would make this next light, she was sure of it. And then it was just one, maybe one and a half miles up the road, one right turn (thank god it was a right), and another right into the parking lot. She could run into the building. Wait, do courthouses have security? How long has this light been red? Jesus fucking christ.
“Go!” she yelled at no one.
The left-turn signal switched to yellow. This was it. It was almost her turn. Just one more green light. Another glance at the clock. Still 8:53. She smiled. She was going to make it.
And then she saw him.
Dark brown skin hung off his frame. Elbows so sharp, they might cut through. Bald. Walking between the cars with a small cardboard sign. He looked used to his routine, the way all old men do, as he shuffled in-between the parked commuters of the morning rush.
He walked up to her car.
“No, no, no,” she muttered to herself, looking the other direction, anywhere but at him. The light was going to turn. She had places to be.
He kept walking, and she let out a sigh of relief. But then she saw a small, pale hand with a green piece of paper reaching out of the white sedan in front of her.
“You fucking idiot,” she said.
The old man walked up to the car to grab the money. The light turned green.
“NO!” she yelled.
The pickup truck began to pull forward. The old man took his handout and made a small bow to the driver. The white sedan with the one good deed started to pull away. The old man was directly in front of her car, shuffling towards the sidewalk. It was her turn. She looked at the clock. It flickered again.
“Fucking move!” she screamed, and she laid on the horn. The old man stumbled from the start of the sound. She rolled down her window. Now everyone could hear her.
“Get out of the fucking road!”
The old man tried to catch himself, but he stumbled again and harder this time. Horns started blaring behind her. Blaring at her.
He was dragging his left ankle along. Had he always moved this slow? She watched as he gripped his pant leg to lift his bum leg along, the five dollar bill crumpling in his partially balled fist. She could not wait any longer. She pressed on the gas. The car jerked forward.
She heard it first. A loud thump. Her car rocked. A lurch in her stomach.
Two minutes later, she pulled into the courthouse parking lot. She undid her seat belt. She walked inside. “I didn’t hit him,” she said, but no one was listening. There was a long line wrapped around the corner to get through security. “I just didn’t want to be late.”