New Houses

The sun is setting as I roll down the narrow state highway. I'm pushing 80,000 pounds of semi- rig pretty hard and where there are houses or stores the view opens up a bit; but stores and houses mean traffic, too, so I try to keep my eyes on the road in those stretches. When the sun's low on the horizon it can blind you, and people zip out of side streets - you can't always see them. Dusk's a hard time to see when you're driving.

I coast a bit. There's a traffic light up ahead, so I let the clutch out all the way and slow down, joining the line of cars waiting at the signal.

The light changes to green and I jog over to the right, bypassing the cars in the turning lane. The guy in front of me makes a move to turn right, and I roll past him. Past the intersection, the view opens up in all directions. I glance to the right and the setting sun blinds me just a little; I look forward again and I see clear road ahead, so I give it some throttle. You know, to pick up speed.

Looking out the passenger side window again I see a bunch of new houses going up in an old field. Some of them are just frames, but others are finished and have a car or two in the driveway.

A lot of people get mad seeing old farms torn up for new houses, but its like arguing about the weather – nothing you're gonna do. Times change, and people want nice big houses. Helps them feel safe, I guess. What do I know? I drive a long-line delivery route 325 days a year, always have. I spend my nights in an apartment I used to share with my dad, or else curled up in the back of my cab.

Maybe nice families need big houses like this.

The orange sun on the horizon is mostly hidden by the square blocks of the houses, but as I roll along, the windows of the houses line up just right so I can see right through them. Window after window flickers with sun, like they're on fire.

Through one window, though...I only have a split-second look, but I am pretty sure I see the shape of a woman...and she's holding a baby.

I wonder if she is excited, looking out, thinking about the grass in the spring. Sure, who wouldn't? I bet she's thinking of the trees, and flowers, too, and all of the other growing things. Maybe she's wondering if there will be kids to play with, or neighbors to share the mornings?

Who knows what nice things a woman will want when she's got a big sunny house? I bet that house will make her happy and safe.

Then she's gone. The dark blocks of the houses hide the sun again. I turn to the road ahead and shift gears, giving her throttle. You know, to pick up some speed.

Dan Capriotti lives, works and writes in New Jersey. His short fiction has been published in Barrelhouse Magazine and Storyglossia Magazine. He is currently working on a non-fiction book related to the history of quarantine and immigration in New York City.

Email: Dan Capriotti

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