The Break

The bank holiday was finally here.
Tap, tap, tap, went my fingers on the steering wheel.
Sigh, tut, sigh, went my wife, staring at the unmoving cars.
Groan, groan, groan went my eldest daughter in the back.
The sun dazzled, it glared with its unyielding rays. My son smiled at me as I glanced in the rear view mirror. His cheeks were rosy from the heat and his blond hair was messed up from napping. His bright blue eyes reminded me of the sea we were soon going to be splashing in.
The radio station came on. My wife was fiddling with the dial. Been an accident…blocked up… find an alternative route…
There was a snapping argument in the car on my right.
A woman slammed a door further down.
A horn blasted.
“Why is everyone so angry?” my son asked.
“Why d’you think, dumbo?” my daughter replied.
I closed my eyes, tired of the unrelenting sun, wishing we hadn’t planned to go away for the weekend, when our own car door opened and closed.
“What’s he doing?” My wife twisted around to see our son breakdancing on the sizzling tarmac in between cars. “Jimmy!” she called. “Get back in the car now!”
I stared at him, amused, in awe really. There was my son, someone who was getting bullied at school for taking dance lessons, catching a sour moment and spinning it into something sweet. He was leaning on his palm, twirling around his body, grinning. My daughter laughed, got out of the car, and played some hip hop music from her iPad. Jimmy moved in such a fluid way that I was envious of his freedom, his bold spirit. My daughter clapped watching her brother.
My wife sighed in defeat and kissed me on the cheek. “They’re not arguing anymore,” she said, pointing to the people in the car next to us. And sure enough they were laughing and nodding along with the traffic jam entertainment.