Four-Way Stop
The driver to my right is smiling, gazing at each of us in turn, waving us on. For her, I have no sympathy. But for the one directly across the intersection, a big-eared fellow at least eighty years old, if not closer to eighty-five, who came to a stop before either of us and first had his signal blinking to the right, but now has it blinking to the left, who has inched forward and pumped his brakes at least three times, I feel an overwhelming sense of pity, for within moments I will jam on the gas and swerve around him, honking if necessary, shouting obscenities out my open window, because I am in my forties and overwhelmed with mundane but nagging tasks that await me at work and at home—emails to return, spreadsheets to fill in, bills to pay, plumbers to schedule—boiling over with irritation whenever I’m in a car, having grown up in traffic-choked New Jersey, full of aggressive drivers who’ll cut you off the moment you give them an opening, and now living in mild-mannered Oregon, a place I love for its friendliness and slow pace of life, except when I’m on the road waiting for someone to recognize his obvious right of way. A fourth car approaches from the left, and before it can slow, I’m off.
Scott Nadelson
Scott Nadelson is the author of nine books, most recently the novel Trust Me. His work has appeared in Ploughshares, New England Review, Five Points, and The Best American Short Stories.
