I was headed for the final school pick-up of the week last Friday. Same stretch of road and traffic lights and businesses I drive every day to get the girls back and forth to their education. Sun glasses on, windows down, first tease of summer blowing through the spring and I'm taking it speed limit slow. Plenty of time to make the 3 o'clock bell.

Traffic's moving about the same pace as me. Stopping and going in both lanes. Nobody fast, nobody slow, nobody in hurry. Except for the blue pick-up behind me. First I don't notice him there crawling up my bumper. Then I don't care. He's honking and waving me into the next lane so he can get by and I have room to speed up, but I just keep my pace. I like my lane. It's the lane I need to be in, but not just yet. It's the lane I want to be.

He honks again. And I wave a friendly hand up, hold my position.

I don't know why we do this on the road. Rage out at each other. My mood is high and I just keep smiling, a little sad for this guy and his hurry. A little smug, too, if I have to tell myself the truth. Lane beside me wide open.

Soon as there's space to make a move, the guy jams his blue pick-up out around me, quick enough to cut me off, and slams the brakes so I come up just short of his smashing into him. With that summer wind coming early through my window, I tell myself this guy can't get to me. He can have his road rage to himself.

I laugh.

I laugh for me because have to, and because I have my days, too. Mostly, I try and remind myself there's nothing on the road worth raging at. But, I have my days. All his anger gets him out in front of me and that's it. We're still stopped at the same light. Wherever he's going, passing me isn't getting him there any quicker.

I laugh for me, not at him.

That's not what he sees. His door opens and he's out on the road a step or two toward me screaming goddamn bitch and asking if i think i can control the road? the harder he yells, the louder I laugh. Laugh him all the way back into his truck.

And out of nowhere my laughing is crying. For this guy and for me. For whatever hurts him so bad the sadness comes out at me as anger. For whatever I'm doing to make him feel worse.

He stays right in front of me, slow as Sunday, taking back control of the road. I keep my distance. Light by light we start and stop together, and I let the space between us grow, foot by foot, until I make the my turn for the school and he goes on his way. But I can't shake him.

It's spring and the flowers are smelling fine and the clouds are grey and the dog smells like dog. No amount of bathing takes the smell from her. No floral shampoo. I ran my car through the washman yesterday and the kids squeelled at the big bristles coming over the window, and now the red paint shines, but inside the car still smells like dog. Lenny the handyman came by today. He fixed a broken window in the front door, screwed a drawer back together, adjusted my ever-running toilet and replaced hinges on the sticky garage door. I wiped down the kitchen and vacuumed the living room before he arrived, but the house still smells like dog. WHich right now smells a little like stale smoke. Has she been out rolling in cigarette butts?