Traffic Lights

We were staring at the traffic light, waiting for the color to change from red to green. We were silent as the city sounds spoke for us. I liked the presence of these strangers—with them I felt my absence. Like a mirror, I was a reflection of their human face. Mostly, they didn't know they saw me—only recognizing the busy traffic sights.

In the distance I could see the yellow screens of plastic as the lights in the floating lamps moved down. People were starting, slowing, stopping in the perpetual rhythm conducted by our law of light. And I wasn't alone. We were all waiting for the signal to turn. I looked at the man to my left. I imagined he was involved with important affairs—yet he could just as easily be falling into some great loss—it made no difference. To me this man was all but invisible. I'd forget him after the street was crossed.

Everyone was starting, slowing, stopping. The little lights moved down their metal frames. I supposed there was some sort of meaning, people truly believe in the traffic light. We believe in the unchanging change of three colors, this belief makes society better. I wondered if other beliefs could work like that. The man didn't notice I was staring. We were all impatiently waiting to return home, to eat, to be left in peace and forget about the invisible faces we saw.

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