WHAT’S THE RUSH?

You’re late for work again. This isn’t the first time that’s happened, but it’ll be your last if you don’t arrive on time today. Your boss informed you that your work may be up to par, but they couldn’t ignore your incessant tardiness anymore than you could ignore the second hand on a clock. If you didn’t arrive at exactly 8:00 AM on the dot, it’d most likely be the last time you’d ever have to bother.

That led you to speeding as fast as your route legally permitted you this morning. Only four days into your new routine as a changed, ideal employee, and of course you would already be running behind. You didn’t even spend a moment gathering breakfast or buttoning up your shirt right; you could do that at the office when you arrived on time.

For a split second, you think that perhaps you should call ahead and let your boss know you’ll be late, but your fear gets the better of you. No way you should tell them now; you’ll most certainly be fired this time. No, if you hurry, you should make it there on time.

Even though you’ve already been stopped by three red lights, you’re still making good on time. It’s hard to convince your nerves of that, since your leg is still shaking something fierce, but you might actually be fine. You’d make it by the skin of your teeth as long as you weren’t stopped again. By this point of your route, you wouldn’t have to worry about anymore lights, but that didn’t mean it was over just yet. You still had the remaining obstacle of the train.

You zip through the last intersection and make a slight right down the unpaved road. Maybe you’d get lucky today and it wouldn’t arrive. If it did, you might as well turn around and go home. It always took no less than twenty minutes for it to pass, and that just wasn’t time you had today.

The tracks look empty right now. So far, so good. The cars in front of you have long since thinned out and dispersed, so you feel comfortable speeding a bit. The needle on the speedometer quivers just barely over 40 MPH. Sweat nearly sends your palms slipping off the steering wheel, but you stay firm. You can feel victory upon you. You’re almost there.

A whistle cuts through the air. Your eyes dart forward, and there you see the flashing lights of the crossing start up. Even farther ahead, off to the side, beyond the pinging back-and-forth lights, you spot the train fast approaching.

Shit. What’re the odds of that? Even then, it still looks quite far away. If you hurry, you should be able to make it.

Your foot inches towards the accelerator and presses it down oh so gently. Your speedometer climbs to 45 MPH.

46. 47. 48. You’re fast approaching the crossing now, as is the train. 49. You still have a leg up on it, so you get down on the gas and depress it some more.

50. 51. The needle creeps forward. 52. 53. 54.

The train’s horn cuts through your ears, louder this time, nearly dividing your head with its piercing sound. You feel your heartrate pick up, and the thudding violently smashes against the walls of your veins. You’ll be fine. 55.

There aren’t any arms guarding the crossing, so you’ll be free to dart across safely as soon as you breach the tracks. It feels like they can’t come fast enough. 56.

Closer now, you can hear the wheels knocking against the tracks. 57.

The train looks like it’s about to overtake you. You might not make it. Your mind fills with all sorts of terrible images of sitting in your boss’s office, head inclined in a meeting with HR that ultimately ends with your promised final paycheck. 58.

You can’t get fired from this job. You’ll have nothing left. The fear only makes you drive faster. 59.

The horn makes your head feel like a fleshy balloon about to burst. The conductor doesn’t lay off the horn. You can’t slow down now. You’re not going to make it if the train stops you. You have to make it across.

The cars in your side mirror trail off somewhere behind you, their headlights becoming small pinpricks in the rear. Nubs of white peek out from underneath the skin of your knuckles. You can feel the adrenaline writhing around in your intestines. 60.

This is it. After you get on the other side of the crossing, you’ll be home free. You think about the sight of checking in while the clock still reads 7:51 AM, the impressed face of your boss peeking out from behind the private office shades, approving of your changed behaviors. 61. You take comfort in the image of your paycheck, received at a regular rate of every Friday, same as always. 62.

The accelerator is nearly flush to the floor, the same with your teeth smashed against each other. You try to drown out the sound of the train’s horn shooting through your head, the headlights filling the cabin of your truck, the metal wheels striking the track, the metal grill striking your door-