Coming Back From Lunch

They were done with lunch and on their way back to work. Ari was at the wheel with Gary in the passenger's seat. Tariq and Guy were in the back.

The traffic was light, and the cars were speeding along on the road. In moments, the chicken sandwiches and waffle fries would be a distant memory, and they would be back at their computers writing software, making plans, and answering email.

Then, at a stoplight there was a musical ringing sound. It filled the car. All of them looked around. Guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a ringing gadget -- a phone and a PDA rolled into one. It had a stubby black antenna on top and shiny keyboard with tiny keys arrayed below an LCD screen.

It's my wife, Guy said before the phone was out of his pocket. It's her ring.

The light turned green. Guy answered the phone.

Hello! he said.

The other three politely tuned his conversation out at first, but his voice got louder and louder until they couldn't help but listen.

Where are you, now? Guy said.

Tariq rolled his eyes to himself. He was a bit of a anti-techite in spite of his job writing software. Cell phones made him mutter to himself, and conversations like this forced him to bite his Luddite tongue.

We're coming home from lunch. On Parmer. Where are you?

Now we're next to the insurance building.

We're going west. Where are you?

Now we're across from the Walgreen's.

It kept on going like this, Guy giving frantic updates on their location and asking his wife where she was.

She's coming from the other way! Can you see her? She's in a black Camry.

They were driving along at 45 mph. The traffic in the lanes across the median was going the same speed the other way. The oncoming traffic approached them at a relative speed of 90 mph. White cars. Red cars. Blue pickups. Red pickups. And a black Camry.

There she is!

In seconds a black car passed them going the opposite way. And for a brief moment they saw her. The face of a woman. Sitting behind the wheel of a shiny black sedan. Looking out her window. Eyes wide. Mouth open as if she were yelling to them. Smiling. Waving at them. Cell phone in her hand.

And then she was gone.

Bye, honey. Love you.

And then the four of them were alone again. In moments, the chicken sandwiches and waffle fries and passing black sedan would be a distant memory, and they would be back at their computers writing software, making plans, and answering email.

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