Written August 6, 2018

The car interior smelled new and sharp, just the way Karen Hathaway was dressed that spring morning. 

The simple silk blouse she wore billowed slightly as she walked and was neatly tucked in to a pastel-blue pleated skirt that flared out at her knees.

It was cool weather, but not too cool, which was what prompted her to choose this particular outfit so carefully.

Her thick caramel-blonde hair fell over her shoulders playfully, and her pleasantly pointed nose was angled downward at the iPhone she cupped in her hands, thumbs relentlessly pecking away at the tiny keyboard. She was seated comfortably in her husband’s Mercedes, which was parked in the driveway.

“Good morning honey!” She wrote. “I took Toby to school, and now I’m heading to…” Karen paused, thumbs hovering over the bright screen. 

Should I go to Publix? Or just to the supermarket? No, I’ve never been to the market before. Might as well just go to Publix.

She continued. “…Publix to pick up some short ribs. I’m going to make that for dinner with baked potatoes like you like. See you later!”

Karen sighed as it sent and began backing out of the driveway, satisfied.

She had driven for approximately three minutes when she noticed a large cluster of cars at the next light. The horns of annoyed drivers blared, overpowering the delicate songs of the small birds who were hiding in the trees.

I would be hiding, too.

Karen’s pretty features contorted into a disapproving frown.

All that racket just for one little traffic jam. I certainly don’t need to participate in that. Can I U-turn here? It doesn’t say not to. Now, to find a different route…Ah! I think I know. Or…

Karen hesitated.

Oh, what the heck. I’ll probably get there faster anyway.

The drive began pleasantly, passing through elegant two-lane streets lined on either side by well-grown trees, the full branches stretching out over the road providing shade and a dappling of golden morning sunlight. The houses were pristine and set back from the road, concealed well by regularly manicured bushes.

This road soon made a sharp right into narrower streets. These trees, in contrast to the others, were sparsely foliaged. There were no bushes shielding the small houses. In fact, the houses seemed to be pushed all the way up to the edge of the properties they were on, as if the builders were encouraging the passersby to sneer at their small proportions. The fences along the roadside were pathetic attempts at lessening the owners’ embarrassment.

Karen made sure to note all these things as she drove at a leisurely pace towards her destination. 

Despite the humble state the small houses of the narrow roads were in, there was something about them that intrigued her––that she almost preferred––more than the larger, regal houses.

I don’t know…These houses are more––

Karen’s thoughts were interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She glanced down at the illuminated screen.

It’s Elle! I wonder why she’s calling.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached for the phone and swiped the screen to take the call.

“Hey Elle! What’s up?”

“Hey Karen, I was just calling to confirm about Bob’s birthday party. You and Rich are coming, right?”

“Are you kidding? Rich wouldn’t miss it for the world! When is it again? It’s at your place, right?” 

“On the twenty-fifth, and yes. By the way, I need to thank you! Well, I should actually be thanking Toby, but you can thank him from little Billy and I.”

“What are you thanking Toby for?”

Karen made a left, exiting the narrow streets with the small houses. She was now entering the city.

“Well, at school, Billy was getting bullied, but Toby was right there sticking up for him. He didn’t tell you?”

Karen was squeezing the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she maneuvered away from a reckless car. She slammed her palm against her horn. 

“Jesus!” She exclaimed frustratedly. “These drivers! Ugh. Sorry, Elle. Go ahead. What was it you said again?”

“I said that at school, Billy was getting bullied, and Toby was sticking up for him. I asked if he told you about it.”

“Uh-huh. No, he didn’t.”

“That’s weird. You should ask him about it. Anyway, have you come up with what you’re going to make for the Thanksgiving lunch at school? I know it’s next fall, but you know how it’s a huge deal with the teachers and the other moms.”

Karen glanced in her rear view mirror. The reckless car was stopped, a police car next to it. The reckless driver was out of the car, his hand on the shoulder of someone who seemed to be a homeless person. The police officer shook the reckless driver’s hand and got back in his car. The homeless person turned, and Karen saw that he had a pair of dark round sunglasses.

It’s not that sunny out. Unless he’s blind! Oh, no…

Karen continued, momentarily thrown. “The Thanksgiving lunch? Oh, yes! An apple pie.”

Elle sighed on the other end. The sigh sounded staticky. “You always come up with the best ideas!”

Karen turned into a back alley to avoid traffic. The large car struggled to squeeze past bursting bags of garbage. The back half of a man with ragged clothes was sticking out of a dumpster. The man wriggled out. He was boney and malnourished. Apparently, he had been scavenging for food. He stared at Karen through the Mercedes’ tinted windows with hollow eyes that looked as if they’d seen more than they ever wanted to see. 

Karen suddenly felt a chill course through her. 

She felt it was time for her to add to the conversation. “What are you making?” 

She continued down the alley. A sickly cat stalked indifferently in front of the car, making Karen slow. It didn’t look at her. It had more pressing matters to concern itself with than to be dazzled by a shiny new Mercedes.

Poor cat.

“A beef stew.”

Karen repeated it as a question. “A beef stew?”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m making. It’s not too rich, is it?”

“Too rich? No, not at all.”

Just a little bit more alleyway, and then its back to the nice roads.

Karen took a right hand turn down an alleyway that was narrower and more cramped than all the others. It consisted mostly of abandoned apartments that were huddling together––alone and ashamed of their dilapidation.

Out of what seemed to be the oldest apartment building emerged four grimy children, their faces smudged with dirt, their hair in disarray. 

The oldest, who looked about sixteen, placed what appeared to be a cigarette butt in his mouth and lit it with a too-well-used matchbox. 

Unlike the man in the dumpster, this teenager’s eyes were not hollow. They were quite the opposite. They had fire. 

They burned right through Karen Hathaway and her shiny new Mercedes and new clothes. Those eyes made her feel just as small as the smallest street with the sparsest foliage.

“Maybe it is too rich,” she said.

The Nice Roads © Safira Schiowitz