Slowly the day changed from putrid to spectacular; the hot sun burned off the humidity and a brisk wind picked up from the east, blowing the foul stench of the city far away.
Kyla knew nothing of the change. Stuck in a over-heated, windowless office working for a taxing boss left her little time to note the weather. She closed her eyes to the dull grayish walls for a moment and wished for four o’clock.
Every Wednesday Mr. Fitch left at three-thirty to play golf. To the staff that meant they were able to leave—as soon as the work was finished. Kyla usually left by four.
The minutes ticked by at their usual pace, and the thirty-two year old had to remind herself that time would not speed by for the wishing.
Finally it was three-thirty. Fitch left. Kyla worked doggedly as other employees left, one by one. Four-ten—there, that was the last paper for today. She stacked the pile neatly and stapled it, leaving it in the transit box. Tucking a wisp of soft brown hair back into her bun, she gathered her purse and checked her pocket for keys. Bidding the remaining two employees goodbye, Kyla took the elevator down.
Pushing open the outside door she met a different world from the one she had left seven hours earlier. The wind had blown itself into a frenzy, puffing and tugging. Her skirt whipped up into a froth, foaming at her knees. Strands of hair pulled loose from her neat bun. Trying to hold her hair in place with one hand, Kyla watched the black power lines dipping and swaying.
Stoplights jangled and bounced as they turned from green to yellow to red. Concrete slowly pounded into dust by cars was lifted off the ground and swirled into a dancing spiral for a moment, then quickly seized again and dashed like a sprinkle of glittering sand onto the blind, shuttered buildings.
The wind brought a coolness to the air that rejuvenated Kyla. She turned her face to the breathing air, closed her eyes, let it smooth out the worried wrinkles. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and gradually she fancied the wind was saying something. A bit of a cough, a chuckle. Words, words, words…
A horn blared beside her, jolting Kyla back to the city. The car roared on down the street, trailing black exhaust. Slowly she turned and crossed to the parking garage, where she paced the dank floor until she saw her efficient blue car.
Waiting on the front seat, demanding attention, sat the dry-cleaning tickets, the shopping lists, the files that needed to be retyped, endless bits and pieces. For a moment Kyla leaned her forehead against the smooth metal of the hood, looking down through the window at her obligations.
What if she didn’t do them? What if she just didn’t?
With a start she banished the thought and unlocked the door. Sitting, she put the key in the ignition. The seat belt and the door buzzed angrily, a disharmonious squall reminding her of the order in which she was supposed to start her car. She slammed the door shut and clicked the belt into place, starting the engine. Another warning lit up; the gas tank was almost empty.
She rolled the window down as far as it would go, inviting the fresh wind that surged through the car.
Turning out onto the road, she turned into the wind. It pushed at her. No, it seemed to say, you want to follow me this way.
Ahead of her the city rolled out in unison, dull and dirty and colorless. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Behind her the road narrowed, ended in a curve, stretched tantalizingly out of sight. Beyond the road a field of grass was dancing to and fro, the wind tickling it into a giggling titillation.
Kyla felt heavy. Still the wind pushed against her.
What would happen if she just…left? If she just parked the car and followed the road out of the city, followed the wind?
Her family would worry. Her car would get towed. She’d lose her job. No one would take care of the cat. They would all say…
Who cares? What does it matter what other people think? This life, this trench, is becoming a prison, an eternity not to be escaped. What did she want instead?
A home to go home to. Someone to worry after her. A good reputation to uphold. Those, she knew, were required for a safe life.
Safe?
The wind blew in one window and out the other, straight as an arrow down the road. It raced along the roof, burrowed under the tires, as though it could remove the cage and bear her along to the future.
What good is safe if you don’t live? Didn’t she need something different? An adventure? Something unexpected—something she couldn’t plan out, didn’t know what was next, because everything was new.
The van behind her honked and Kyla drove through the green light.
She couldn’t, she wouldn’t go home. Not today, not now. Home was safe, dependable, but she would scream if she were wrapped in dependability for another day, another night, another year. She wouldn’t!
She drew around to the back of an old hardware store. The neon sign flashed dimly, casting a pink glow on the car.
Kyla sat still with her hands and forehead on the steering wheel. This, this was crazy. This was not what she did. This was not her.
Yes, it was her. It was the part never let loose, never experienced, never cherished. It was crazy.
Slowly she took the keys from the ignition and tucked them into her purse. Setting the purse beside the dry cleaning ticket, she looked at the cluttered seat for a moment. Then she opened the door and stepped out into the wind, lifting her face to the green-tinged sky.
Her hair fell into swells and ripples as she pulled the pins out, shaking down her bun. The wind lifted and blew on it, causing tendrils to curl shyly. Kyla smiled, feeling the breeze chattering at her.
She shut the door carefully, deliberately, braced her back against the wind and set off down the street, away from the city.
An hour or so after she left, the wind slowly blew itself out. A rain softly began and fell soothingly on the unenlightened city, whispering gently on the dank, emptied streets.