Yoshiwara

Traffic

It felt like I had been caught in this traffic for ever but, in reality, it had not been that long. I pushed a button on the dashboard's central console and cycled the display through to the clock. It was six o'clock in the evening. I pushed the button again, and the display dimmed and faded to black.

Four lanes of motorway stretched out ahead of me: four unmoving lanes of vehicles, as far as the eye could see. Behind me it was the same - more vehicles receding into the distance. On the other side of the central divider, cars and lorries sped past, heading towards their ultimate destinations. And, above the barriers on either side of the motorway, the hulks of tower blocks rose up into the sky.

I was a veteran traveller. Every week I would drive 300 miles to work, and then I would drive 300 miles back again to spend the weekend with my wife and child. I had become all too familiar with the route and the rhythms of the traffic. I had learnt how to read the road and its moods. I knew the various rat-runs and bail-out routes that would keep me on my way, even if it was slower than I would have liked. Today had been different. The traffic had been flowing freely, then the motorway ahead of me had become a sea of red lights as driver after driver hit their brakes and came to a halt. I turned on my radio, hoping to hear some word of what was happening. No luck. Every frequency was filled with static. I took my phone from the glove box and thumbed it on. The words 'NO SERVICE' flashed up on the screen.

Dead spot. I switched off the car's engine and settled back to wait.

With nothing to entertain me in the car, I turned my attention to the world outside. The tower blocks were inscrutable edifices of glass and concrete. The traffic on the opposite carriageway only provided momentary glimpses of life - a face, the promise of far-off places. So, I turned my attention to the others who were stuck in this traffic jam with me. I watched the dramas of their lives unfold. A suited man shook his phone and mouthed angry words at it. A family squabbled over some trifling matter. A couple grew intimate despite of - or perhaps because of - the people around them. However, I soon tired of these voyeuristic pursuits and withdrew into my private world.

I looked up at the sky and noticed that it was growing dark; lights were starting to come on in the tower blocks. On an impulse, I checked the time again. It was now seven in the evening. How long had I been here? It took some time to come up with the answer. My mind had been stuck in the 'now' of its existence for so long that I had to concentrate to do even the simplest sums. Six hours? I had been on the road for six hours?

I checked the lockbox, rummaging in it for my supplies. I had a single bottle of water, half-empty now and tasting of warm plastic. I also had half a melted chocolate bar. My stomach started to rumble, and I gave in to its demands.

As I ate, another thought came to me. In all the time that I had been caught in this mass of traffic, the only movement I had seen had been on the far side of the divider. Surely somebody must have noticed what was going on here? Where were the police? The emergency services? Had we been forgotten?

I finished the chocolate. What should I do? I went through the options. I could stay here and wait for help to arrive, but how much longer would I have to wait? Or I could get out of my car and go looking for answers.

I took a deep breath and opened the car door. The cool evening air was heavy with the stench of fuel and exhaust, but it was still good to breathe it. I hauled my body out of the seat, feeling my legs shake under me. I leant against the side of my car, giving myself time to regain some strength., and looked around. A few people had seen the movement and were staring at me. I ignored them. Let them stay in their glass and steel bubbles if they wanted to. That was their business. I was going to do something.

There was just one more thing left to decide: which way to go? I looked up and down the columns of stationary traffic, trying to remember which way it was to the nearest exit. That wasn't important. What was important was home. I turned to the north and began to walk.