She adjusted herself once again in the driver's side of her 79' Honda Accord. Breaking her previous promise of not looking at the clock, she regrettably noted that it had been an hour since she had reached San Jose. Traffic on Highway 17 remained at a deadlock, as the smell of idling gasoline filled her nostrils. This wouldn't be so bad, she thought, if only I had proper air conditioning. She eye-balled the other passengers in the cars around her. A blonde lady with pursed lips beside her had opened a bottle of water and began to drink it appreciatively. Rachel couldn't help but be envious of everyone she saw in the other cars. Some had even broken into their picnic baskets for drinks instead of waiting for the Santa Cruz beach later. She couldn't blame them.
The journey had started early Sunday, the day before July 4th. At 10:00 am, after dropping off a friend in Berkley, Rachel had embarked on her much anticipated weekend in Santa Cruz with Damon and his family. She was happy to leave early enough to give herself plenty of time to enjoy the city before the day was over. But as soon as she hit Highway 880, her prospects of arriving promptly at 12:30 at Damon's apartment became utterly lost in the vast sea of cars that crowded the freeway. It was useless to pull over and wait for the traffic to subside. She knew she'd be stuck in it all the way to Ocean Street.
The skin on her left forearm began to burn. The heat from the car irritated it so that she felt uncomfortable simply hanging her sore limb out the window. As the sun drenched her from head to toe, she wished she had been smart enough to put sunscreen on before starting out. She knew she was going to pay dearly for that mistake, but she didn't know how much longer this taunting traffic would last. Surely she'd be there soon?
It wasn't until 4 o'clock that she arrived at the steps of Damon's apartment, expelling her last ounce of strength to climb the wooden stairs to his front door. She exhaled a sign of relief when she tried the handle and it opened easily, exposing his living room inside. Damon stood in the middle of the room, and looked at her with eyes of joy. She wanted to express her happiness at finally making it to Santa Cruz but instead she rattled off every negative aspect of her journey to her innocent boyfriend. Amongst them: the soreness of her feet, ankles, hips and lower back; her hunger and soul-threatening thirst, the heat and lack of proper coolant for the atrocious amount of hours spent under 5 MPH. She may have conveniently forgotten to mention that her eyes sting stung with salty tears that she shed in utter mental and physical exhaustion in the car.
When at last she was finished and had unwound her arms from Damon's waist, he poured her a tall glass of cold water (which she promptly drank down and filled up again) and took her upstairs. He left her lying on his bed and jogged downstairs again. When he reappeared, he was holding a large bowl of water, rags, and ice packs, which he began placing over her forehead and left side to cool her body heat. Immediately her body felt more relaxed and cooler. She closed her eyelids and concentrated on the damp ice packs that lined her left arm. Gladly welcomed water droplets dripped down her face and onto her neck. With each rag her placed on her, she felt better and happier. The day had been worth every ounce of agony because she was finally with Damon again. Her arduous trip soon became a distant memory as she appreciatively ran her fingertips through Damon's hair.
She wondered if he would ever know just how much she was grateful for his love and care.
........to be continued.
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