“God dammit, this traffic is going to be the end of me.”
John, a 27-year-old chemical engineer who works for a no-name general consulting company in the heart of Chicago, continues to regret this choice every single day. The pay is fantastic; the commute is torture. He cannot afford to live in his preferred downtown location, so the car travel is a necessary evil.
It’s Friday, and he is most excited for this week to be over. He has plans to relax and do absolutely nothing at all. Catch up on some podcasts he let build up over the last few weeks.
He had actually been listening to one over the last 10 minutes or so. Some legal podcast talking about current events, but he got bored of it pretty quick. The hosts didn’t seem to have the best chemistry and he personally did not find their banter funny. Traffic had been moving slow before trying this show. Now, it seemed like it was at a complete stand-still.
He pauses the podcast and silence fills his car while he glances around at his surroundings. Both his side of the interstate and the other look to be totally still. He focuses more on his direct surroundings, the cars around him in particular.
No cars scoot forward with impatience or attempt to narrow the space between them and their neighbors down to inches, as expected. No, EVERY car he sees seems to have their parking brake on. And worse than that, the silence inside his car seems to extend outside, as he does not hear any honking or shouting or the general buzz of interstate travel for minutes on end.
Unnerved, John decides to fill the empty space with some music to distract himself. He hits the power button on his speaker and turns the knob to the right.
An ad for a local concert starts to play. It advertises the artists that will be playing the next few weekends for an outdoor venue. He thinks about if he would have time to attend one of these with his schedule and projects on board. It takes him a moment to realize there is finally space in front of him. He moves his car forward and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
The ad starts to wrap up and he expects a host to start talking about the next song. Nothing. Just the sound of white noise as he slowly works his way down I-290 eastbound. He tries changing to another radio station, then another, and finally ends up on a more popular Top 40 one he has for traveling with other people. Still nothing but radio static. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Without warning, the static goes away.
“Finally, John,” a monotone female voice says, exasperated. “Now, as you look to your left, you will see-” The voice cuts off immediately as he slams down on his speaker button.
Maybe silence is okay over losing his mind, he thinks. The voice was unrecognizable. He could have sworn he had the radio tuned into a mindless Top 40 station. The FM number listed: 103.5 KISS FM, the standard go-to for all things generic and popular at the time, is what greets him with a glance at the dashboard.
He looks around again and feels something like panic start to rise inside of him. It’s just like before; no movement, no sounds. It is as if the very air carries a paralytic that prevents the action of anything in the area.
He takes a chance and decides to turn his car off and step out of the vehicle. If no one is moving, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
He expects to hear some honks or obscenities sent his way for this stunt, but there is zero response. He looks up at the overcast clouds, too high in the sky and too condense into each other to tell if they are moving.
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He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up the lock screen to check the time. 7:33 in the morning. He puts it away and starts counting up to 120.
He closes his eyes and starts to wonder if he actually woke up this morning. Is this like one of those dreams where you live through the start of your morning, do all your chores, then wake-up with none of those done and much less time to do them? He hated those dreams!
He finally hits 120 in his head. He pulls out his phone again. 7:33 in the morning. Even if he was counting fast, he should have at least hit a minute by now.
He shakes his head and works his way towards one of the neighboring cars. A 2017 Mitsubishi Outlander greets him. He sees a middle-aged woman in the front seat, staring ahead without blinking. He walks in front of the vehicle and waves his hand in front of her windshield. No change in expression. No movements at all. Eyes staring blankly ahead looking straight through him.
A warm summer day, but a chill works its way through his entire being. He looks away, not admitting to himself how frightening that was. He moves from vehicle to vehicle. Every single person, both drivers and passengers, frozen as if in a block of ice, unmoving and unresponsive. He starts yelling, shouting, pounding on vehicles and doors with his fists.
Nothing. A whole host of absolutely nothing. He screams again in frustration.
John works his way back to his car, still on the dream train but not wanting to discount this as a new reality. Too much of it felt real. Too much unlike any dream he had before.
He gets into his car and shuts his door, locking himself in. He turns his car back on and decides to face the music.
As he clicks the radio back on, a funky dance song greets him as he hears some familiar lyrics:
“Something in you…lit up a heaven in me. The feeling won’t let me sleep…”
He sighs. At least he finally hears MUSIC from his radio. Traffic again begins to move, the usual snail pace that at any other time would bring annoyance but at this moment is reassuring. The song continues for some time and concludes as it always has. The song fades out and he expects another song to take its place only to follow with…silence. Oh no.
“You really don’t have to keep turning the radio off and on again, John. You must pay attention, after all,” the feminine voice says with a lilt. Was she smiling? Were they even a ‘she’?
There’s a pause, and he audibly voices his frustrations to himself. He chokes on his saliva when he gets a response.
“No need to be rude, John. Now, if you look to your left you will see the United Center. You’re on the right track. There is someone you must meet before this is to continue further. You will work your way to Millennium Park. Further details will unveil themselves to you at this destination. Remember to keep access to a radio at all times.”
There’s a pause for a second, and John swears he can hear the voice smirking on the other end of the ‘conversation’ he’s currently having.
“Any frequency, modulation, or amplitude will work, of course.”
With that, there is a thrum of white noise that follows. The radio still on, the traffic still inching its way down I-290.
Still unsure if the voice coming from the radio can truly understand him, he says, “You know, you’re kind of a bitch for just dumping this on me with no explanation at all. Either this is a nasty sort of dream and my mind is playing tricks on me, or I will NEED some answers.”
No response. Somehow this is worse than if she were to scold him.
“Well, I’m going to call you Becca, after a bitch of an ex-girlfriend I had a while back. That alright, Becca?”
He again expects nothing, but sputters when he hears back, “Whatever works for you, John. This one will identify as ‘Becca’ from this moment forward unless designation changes at some time in the future. This ‘Becca’ will try and ‘bitch’ less, as you put it.”
John groans. Great, it definitely has a sense of humor. Whatever. When no other words are forthcoming, he decides to call his supervisor. He didn’t really feel like working this Friday anyway, so he may as well humor this ‘Becca’ in return.
“Hey, Mr. Wagner? Sorry for the early chat, but I’m feeling pretty under the weather and am going to have to use one of my sick days. Apologize to the rest of the team for me, but I cannot see myself going to work in my current condition.”
He continues on and gives a little bit more detail on the projects he left hanging earlier this week and what the plans were to end the week before hanging up. With that distraction out of the way, he turns the radio off again.
As before, time seems to come to a halt. He waits a minute to make sure it truly has stopped again before pulling his phone out. He goes to the family group chat and types up a quick message.
- Hey guys, rough week of work! Doing well overall but just wanted to say love you all and hope your Friday goes great!!! -
With a push of a button, the radio turns back on with the usual static in response. Good. Cars start to move again, and he clicks the send button on his message. Regardless of what happens going forward, at least he has that off his chest.
He does not try to linger on thoughts of what all this means, the possibilities too innumerable and unquantifiable to reasonably sort through. He only wishes that he will have the steel to face whatever is coming his way and hopes to find the answers for why he, personally, has to deal with it.
Even with all this uncertainty, one thing was still clear to him. Time moved forward, but traffic was still shitty.