The day had been excruciating. At 9:00 that morning, the boss had withdrawn into his office and closed his doors. By 11:00, rumors were circulating that something was up. Through slits in the venetian blinds which normally stayed open - the boss liked to keep an eye on the workers - Rita had taken a moment from her secretarial duties to observe him talking heatedly on the phone. That in itself wasn't so unusual a thing. However, the fact that he was doing it behind closed doors and drawn blinds was. At around noon, his door opened. He was sweating.

"Okay," he began, "here's the story." Everyone gathered around him. "This is from division headquarters, so you know exactly how much say we have in the matter. You know that flatscreen we had a week to finish?" The room was silent. "We have until five o'clock. Today. Right, right - I know exactly how you feel, but this is non-negotiable. Jobs are resting on this, people. Let's get to work." Oh boy.

Bells sounded everywhere, telling me that school was out. I struggled to shove the last of my school books into my backpack and get out the door before everyone else. It only resulted in a bottleneck at the door to the classroom, and no one getting anywhere. After weaving and shoving my way through the crowds, I finally reached the bike racks. As I bent down to unlock my mountain bike, somebody I knew - and wished that I didn't - made some snide remark to me before laughing his way home. I took it personally, as usual. I sat there for a minute or two, stewing over what he had said, imagining all of its implications. As young minds will do, my thoughts wandered, and I soon forgot that I had been angry. I was still holding my bike lock. I stowed it in my saddlebags and took off toward home, and away from middle school.

As I came up to the intersection of Highland and Circle, I stopped to press the crosswalk button. I didn't feel like going home quite yet. I let the crosswalk stop the oncoming cars, but I left in the opposite direction, heading west toward the foothills of the Oregon Coast Range. Civilization drifted past me, and was left behind. People, houses, sidewalks and front lawns soon gave way to grassy fields and streams, which turned into towering coniferous trees, lush undergrowth and the sounds of a myriad forest animals. The road gradually got steeper, and my backpack reminded me of the fact.

I stopped at a small stream crossing and laid my bike down on the pebbles to the side. The forest was peaceful. I sat down and soaked in my surroundings. I listened to the poetry of the flowing stream as it danced among the rocks and branches. I looked up, and a breeze played with the tops of the trees, which swayed in asynchronous harmony. I heard a small creature moving in the bushes, until the staccato chirping of a bird froze it in its tracks. A low whooshing sound caught my attention. After half of a minute or so it resolved itself into a car as it whizzed past. I resolved that I wanted to leave.

The flatscreen was done. It had taken more effort than anyone there felt comfortable with, but it got done, and in time. Doug put thoughts of broken .5mm pencil leads, sluggish CAD programs, antiquated plotters and nagging bosses out of his head. He needed a weekend, and here it was - a 45 minute drive away, but here nonetheless. He bade his coworkers a pleasant good-bye, got into his car and started on his trek home.

Within five minutes he was on the freeway, driving south. No need for gas, drinks, or food - he'd have a TV dinner or some microwave burritos . . . He recalled what he wrote on the whiteboard before coming to work: Buy Food. With grim resignation, he took the next freeway exit and headed for the grocery store.

As he walked among the towering stacks of cereal, frozen foods and produce, he calculated in his head as he picked items off the shelf and placed them into the grocery cart: burritos, pot pies, TV dinners, Triple Brownie Overload ice cream, cream of mushroom soup, rice. That should do it. Having paid for the groceries, he loaded them into his car and rolled the grocery cart noisily back into the store. Grabbing a cold burrito, he set off once again toward home, munching on it as he drove.

The road rushed past. My legs pumped the pedals and my heart raced as I barreled down the hillside. When I reached the bottom of the hill, I continued to pedal as hard as I could for the next half mile, until I was too tired. From there, I coasted. Trees, animals, sounds and fields had quickly been replaced with civilization once more. Instead of heading straight home, though, I decided to pay Nikki a visit. At Walnut Boulevard, I took a left. The road curved a bit through the upscale residential area of town, and brought me to the first traffic light I'd seen in a while. I stopped and pushed the crosswalk button. After a few seconds the light changed and I walked my bike across the street. I strolled up the driveway and sneaked up to the house in question, hoping Nikki would not detect me. There was no sign that she had. I moved around to the chain link fence in back of the house, and she saw me. Nikki tore across the mulch back yard and came skidding to a halt on the other side of the gate, nuzzling the latch as if to try to open it. I unlatched it for her, and we greeted as enthusiastic yellow labs and humans greet. After scratching behind her ears, I led her around to the front of the house and knocked on the front door. Naturally, my Godparents invited me to come in. We talked for a while.

The road rushed past. At 70 miles per hour, Doug was going a little faster than he should, but he knew this stretch of freeway like the back of his hand. He was looking forward to the weekend. After being forced to listen to the radio all day at work, he welcomed silence. There was nothing but the road, the car, and his own thoughts. And that jerk who just cut me off! He downshifted and switched into attack mode. The road was his castle, and he wasn't about to be outdone.

I waved good-bye to my Godparents, gave Nikki one more scratch behind the ears and headed home. The sun had all but set, and long shadows cast themselves across the land. I looked down, and saw that my own shadow stretched away into nothing. A cool breeze picked up, and gave me goosebumps. As I crossed the railroad tracks, I saw the fields of well-groomed grass around me. I saw the full moon overhead, struggling against the clouds which surrounded it. I looked behind and saw the car rushing toward me. I swerved back into the bike lane and stayed there until I reached home, my way illuminated primarily by the headlights of passing cars. I only hoped that they could see me as well.

Doug arrived a few minutes after I did, his presence announced by the headlights flooding the front window of our living room. He walked through the front door and set down his keys.
"Hi dad," I said. "How was your day?"
"Oh, you know - same old same old."
"Yeah. Same here."
We took turns with the microwave, preparing our burritos for dinner.