Late for a Wedding
Ruth reached into the glove box and pulled out the wedding invitation. “It definitely says three o’ clock,” she said, offering it to Abe. He took a hand off the wheel to wave it away. Ruth slipped the card back between the dusty cassette tapes in the glove box. The road took a sharp, rising turn. The cassettes shook and jigged, and the invitation sank deeper between their clear plastic hulls. Ruth watched it for a while, then returned to looking out of the window. Clean meadows and softly modulating hills passed by, none of it familiar. “Won’t make it now,” said Abe. Ruth sighed. She took out the invitation again, started to read, then puffed her cheeks and flung the card onto the dashboard. It skittered to a stop under the windscreen. Running a finger along the row of cassettes, she hinged out one with an orange spine. Abe watched her slot the tape and press play. Silence stretched for a few elastic seconds, then music, soft and cracking. “Oh,” said Ruth, “that’s an oldie. Remember this? “ Abe nodded. Quietly he started to drum along on the steering wheel, and Ruth bobbed her head in time with the strumming guitar, her carefully curled hair loosing its shape, and by the end of the song they were not late for anything anymore, but quite on time for something they had not even set out to reach.