I sit in the line of cars with my eyebrows furrowed. My mouth resembles a straight line as I watch brake lights beam into my retinas, flirting with me as they occasionally fade away, only to return brighter than before. A symphony of blaring horns engulf my spinning head as I fight to join the orchestra, but what’s the use? The clock on my radio marches from 5:00 to 5:30, then 6:00 to 6:30. The car in front of me desperately needs a paint job and the car to my left has a flat tire. I gaze to my right and a wild head of luscious auburn curls meets my view. I’ve never seen someone effortlessly touch up their makeup in a rearview mirror before. Tired emerald eyes stare back at me and long, pale fingers wave at me nervously. Her face crawls into my body and steals every action I plan on making, her eyes constricting my body like a king cobra. My mind yells at me to just wave back, roll down the window, give her a smile, something—anything. The anxiety inside my chest dissolves into my lungs as she waves at me again. She must feel the same connection I do! She waved at me twice; she wants my attention. My ego inflates like a balloon at the reality of her attraction toward me. The intensity of our bond leaves her starstruck to the point where all she can do is wave with apprehension. It’s adorable to watch her fix her hair shyly in an attempt to look good for me. Compliments dangle in my throat and although they beg to come flooding out, I keep swallowing them. My mysteriosity is what she loves about me.
My son’s piano recital is in an hour and I’ve been gawking at the same exit sign for the last 30 minutes. The blue and purple under my eyes scream at me when I see my reflection, reminding me that I need to redo my makeup. Slapping concealer on haphazardly, I notice a man to my left looking at me out of my peripheral vision. His icy eyes pierce my soul in an unnerving way, but after working overtime, my care for anything besides getting home flutters out the window. I give him a subtle wave and return to my task. Not a second after, my focus is yet again broken by gaping blue eyes observing me. The annoyance sizzles inside me by this man’s unnerving expression. The urge to roll down my window and ask him what the hell his problem is festers in my chest, but I watch way too many true crime documentaries and I know what happens to women who act out. I give him another wave, praying it’s enough to get him off my back, but his eyes grow even wider and his lips creep into a sinister smirk. My pulse booms in my ears as I reluctantly ignore his obligation to keep staring at me and continue fixing my appearance. The cars in front of me finally crawl forward and the thudding in my chest fades into a distant tap. As I exit the congested highway, I peer out of my rearview mirror to make sure that weirdo isn’t following me. My heart drops to my stomach as I notice in the distance that the man has his phone up to his windshield, alternating between pinching and opening his fingers to zoom in.