The Wiper
There was another cold front moving in. She had grown used to the rather warm winter this year and now it was back to the jackets and gloves weather. The evening commute back home was a killer. Traffic inching along slick roads and the creeping migraine just the fitting end to a long and hectic day.
The weather suited her melancholy. The dark clouds overhead seemed to match her confused state of mind, the roles she had to play. The drama called life she flirted just like the clouds from one to the other, sometimes white and puffy and others stormy and dark just like today.
Gripping the wheel with a death grip, eyes peeled on the road she inched forward. The wiper worked overtime to clear the raindrops on the windshield and she drove towards home. Her mind matching the overworked wiper. She had but no choice just like the poor wiper.
She drove on and it was yet another red light. It was one of those days she thought, every signal I cross is red and the wait is long. Her feet firmly on the brake, her mind mentally working on the dinner menu – the onions, the ginger, the garlic all to be finely chopped, the tomatoes and the garbanzo beans (she repeated the word a few times, she just loved the way the word rolled off her tongue) from the can. And then was the squeaking noise, the irritating one – rubber on the glass.
She faintly registered that the rain had reduced to a mere drizzle by now. Turning off the wiper, she peered hopefully through the windshield for a sight of the sun. And no such luck. Well it was past 5, too late to expect to see the sun in winter. And as she moved with the traffic and the drizzling rain alternating turning the wiper on and off, she wished she could wipe off her mind so easily! So easily just like the wiper…
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