The Stop Light

Ascher squeezed their eyes shut and pushed their head against the headrest of their 2008 Honda Hoopty. They wished they could turn on the A/C.

But, they couldn’t. It was broken. Again.

The driver of the car behind them was shouting and banging their hands on the steering wheel of their black SUV. It looked like the kind that the bad guys would drive single-file in a generic action movie.

Ascher just shrugged and turned the music louder. When did the songs that were popular in high school become classics? How was that possible?

Sure it was possible with the linear nature of time and all, but it didn’t seem right. It was like the gray hairs sprouting up around their temples. It was inevitable, if somehow also improbable-feeling.

“When did I get old?” they asked themself. There were perpetual bags under their eyes and their graying hair seemed mousier than it was when they got their car for a graduation present.

It was new then, with all the bells and whistles. Ascher liked to joke that it had some features only known to the great apes of the Congo. It was a lame joke that almost never garnered a laugh, but they couldn’t seem to stop telling it.

Until the new-new came out.

Then things were different. What was once cool was no longer, and the hip thing was passé. Their car was passé. Their music was passé.

Ascher was passé.

It felt like the world was passing them by. Years ago, they were at the top of their class. Now they were stuck in a dead-end job that felt like it was slowly killing their soul.

The driver in the SUV behind them started blaring their horn. Ascher looked up. The light was still red. It hadn’t changed.

It didn’t feel like this light was ever going to change..