Even torn-up roads offer silver lining

Last summer I experienced a phenomenon that’s relatively rare in Spokane: truly torturous traffic jams.

Already this spring, road crews are everywhere from Interstate 90 to South Freya. Gridlock may be coming soon to a neighborhood near you.

Here is my true-life survivor story:

The tension begins in the pit of my stomach, a churning, fluttery feeling. It spreads to my neck, tightening as it creeps along my jaw.

I feel the furrow in my brow deepen. The thought of more dollars spent on wrinkle remover causes me to take a breath and try to get a grip.

The cause of all this tension? Five o’clock traffic.

Nevada runs north and south through Spokane. I cross it to get to work. I drive down it to get to sporting events, dental appointments, NorthTown, the grocery store and nearby family. It was a bustling four-lane avenue, but the need for new sewer lines has turned it into a field of ruts and rubble.

Miles of idling cars snake behind me. All I can see in front of me is a stoplight, bright and green in the distance. I creep forward.

A few cars cross, and inevitably green turns to sulfuric yellow. I glance at my watch. I check the dashboard clock.

Precious minutes of my life ebb past while ahead the light hangs, malevolent and red.

Claustrophobia sets in. I will never leave the silver coffin of my Ford Windstar.

I roll down the window and gulp breaths of exhaust-laden air. Picking up my cell phone, I dial my husband’s office.

“Hi, Honey, it’s me,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“Cindy, you just called me two minutes and 15 seconds ago. Not much has changed,” he replies.

“Well, I’ve moved up a block since the last time I called. I may make it through the light by 5:15.”

“That’s nice. Are you going to call and let me know when you’ve crossed the intersection?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” he says.

Sighing, I hang up and grip the steering wheel. I flex my fingers around its curve, clenching and unclenching each digit.

A flicker of movement appears ahead. The light is green! Green, green, green, I chant.

Edging forward in tiny increments, I hold my breath. This could be it; I might make it. The black truck in front of me hesitates.

“Go! Go! Go!” I scream. He who hesitates is lost, and I am lost with him.

Nooo, I whimper.

The red beacon glares down upon me. I bow my head on the steering wheel and begin to pray. Lord, if you’ll just let me make it through this next light, I promise to volunteer in the church nursery every Sunday for a year. Please, Lord, please!

The blaring of horns behind me interrupts my prayer for mercy. Looking up I see the black truck is gone and the light is yellow … then red! My inattention has cost me dearly.

I glance in the rearview mirror. The lady behind me in a burgundy PT Cruiser shakes her fist at me.

The tension begins to ebb as traffic finally flows forward. Humbled, I pull into the parking lot of the sports complex to pick up my son.

Glancing around furtively at the other parents, I wonder if the stress has left its mark on my face.

As my son clambers into the van, I realize that the only time I have alone with this busy boy are these trips to and from sports practices. Usually our car is filled with his three brothers or his friends.

I take a deep breath and turn off the radio, and my cell phone, and drop my watch into my purse.

“Hey, Alex, what do you say we take the long way home?”

With those words, my silver coffin is transformed into a cozy cocoon. Maybe more time in the car isn’t such a bad thing if you can spend it with someone you love.

I drive home with a lighter grip on the steering wheel while Alex regales me with tales about his day – stories I would’ve never heard had I not taken the long way home.