Five North

The red light glared menacingly in front of Francis’ sporty, bright green, electrically powered sedan. "ONE CAR PER GREEN—VIOLATORS WILL BE PHOTOFINED," read a sign above the light in large, black, authoritative caps, warning any and all drivers trying to get on Interstate 5 northbound out of San Diego.

Francis tapped his fingers on the wheel of the car impatiently and returned the light’s bright glare, eye for eye, as if to will it, with his own mind, to change color. "Three…two…one…now!" he whispered sharply, squinting his eyes and giving the light an extra blast of mental energy. But the light remained steadfast and impervious, like a watchful soldier guarding his concrete fortress. Resolute, Francis took a deep breath and mustered up all of his concentration for the second wave. "…two…one…now!" he hissed through gritted teeth. But the light did not respond. Francis glowered at the light one last time before reaching down to change the radio station on his satellite radio. When he looked up, the light was shining a friendly green. "Figures," Francis muttered, and let go of the brake just as the car behind him honked.

It was early afternoon when Francis crawled out onto the entrance ramp of the interstate. Muffled by the haze of the city, the sun was just past its zenith in pale blue sky. Nice day, Francis thought. He decided to drive on the upper level of the freeway, even though it was usually more crowded. Following the car ahead of him, he took the right fork of the entrance ramp, above which a sign with an arrow proclaimed, "UPPER LEVEL—VEHICLES OVER OVER 6000 LBS PROHIBITED." He guided the car to a stop and pushed the autobrake button on the inside of the steering wheel, waiting for the cars ahead of him to make their way, one by one, up the ramp onto the upper level of the freeway. An electronic stop sign flashed ahead, while a sign below it read "ONE VEHICLE AT A TIME ON RAMP FROM THIS POINT FORWARD." Francis tapped his fingers and his feet absent-mindedly to the tune that was playing on the radio:

"Maybe it’s some sort of joke, or maybe it’s a scold,

Francis released the autobrake and inched forward to the stop sign as the bulky, old car in front of him began its journey up the ramp. A relic of the previous century, its faded, tan paint was rusting in random places, giving it the appearance of a fat, pockmarked old grandmother. Francis wondered if it would even make it to the top of the steep ramp. He watched the car as it lethargically mounted the top and began to merge onto the interstate. Francis punched the autobrake button again, releasing it, and drove up the ramp. The low, ever-present hum of the freeway grew more intense as he ascended, reverberating in his brain and working its way down his spine to branch off to every recess of his body, inviting him to join in, to integrate himself into the solid, continuous, twenty-lane river of nearly still cars.

Reaching the top, Francis emerged from the shadow over the ramp as the sun rose from the edge of the freeway to his left—west, towards the glittering ocean. Francis squinted and pulled the sunshade down over the upper portion of the driver’s side window. He glanced at the clock and swore to himself. 3:49. It seemed like just ten minutes ago that he left the school parking lot. That had been at around 2:30.