Intersection
Faith, Louise, Ann and Marie huddled together on the corner. From across the street they looked as though they were consulting a map, packed together to avoid the paper from getting wet. All in various shades of blue except Marie, who wore red, their hoods were pulled over their heads and their legs shivered, inexpectant of the sudden drizzle. Ann surveyed the area, eyes wide and chewing her last piece of taffy without much notice of anything but the cars. She didn’t see the people inside them, perhaps because of the onset of fog, or maybe it was the windows that were white. She looked back to her sisters.
Faith looked concerned and straight at Louise. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said, stifling a guilty giggle. Louise shook her head and thought, this happens every time. She told Faith she was failing at sounding innocent. Faith rolled her eyes. “Besides,” she continued, “I still haven’t gotten my pictures.”
“Faith,” Ann complained, “you know they aren’t due in until tomorrow! What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes this just doesn’t feel right!”
“We do it all the time,” Marie interjected into the conversation. “No one even cares.”
Louise watched the flow of traffic. They stood silently, each facing her own direction, thinking of boys and dinner, maybe a school assignment. The traffic light for cars driving the direction they intended to walk turned yellow, then red. The girls waited as the cars next to them sped off; soon after, an opportunity arose. They stood waiting as the large gap passed by, slowly, with distant headlights gradually approaching. They watched until the beams passed the liquor store, and began walking across the street. The sisters didn’t walk slowly, though they didn’t walk quickly either, and timed perfectly (as usual), the oncoming traffic was forced to brake, completely irritated. The girls laughed as they strutted, Marie’s hands in the air, Louise’s calmly by her sides, Faith’s nails in her mouth, and Ann’s modestly tucked inside her jacket pockets. They jumped triumphantly when a car horn sounded. They still couldn’t see the people inside.
Note: Characters were named after my mother and her three sisters. This fragment was inspired by a story my mom once told me: she and her sisters used to do something not unlike what this describes. They’d wait until a car came to cross, instead of the other way around. The One Driving is meant to be a companion to this.
