Late

“Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yeah mom,” she said as she unzipped her fly.
“Why?”
“Well,” she wiggled her bottom in the air as she raised it off the fabric seat, “I needed both hands.”
“How close are you?” Her mother picked at her little by little.
“I’m almost there.” Her jeans slipped over her butt and down to her ankles. “You know, I’m on the freeway. I’ll be there soon.” She carefully slipped one foot and then the other from blue denim before throwing them into the back seat while her car coasted forward.
“I hate when you put me on speaker phone. I can never hear you. What did you say?”
“MOM, I’m on my way!” She shouted.
“Alright, alright. Just drive safely honey. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks mom.”
“I’ll see you after. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And don’t forget to secure your hair well.”
“I love you mom.”
“You don’t want it falling in your face.”
“I love you mom.
“Ok, ok. Good luck.”
Hitting the end button on the phone she sighed and looked at the Styrofoam container on the counsel next to her. She turned the plastic bag upside down over the passenger seat. Paper wrapped chopsticks landed amongst cheap napkins. She glanced up at the slow moving car in front of her and shook the bag again. Where is the fork she thought, as she glanced at the clock. 16 minutes. She shook the bag again. Nothing happened. “Shit,” she said as she snatched the chopsticks off the seat and slipped them from their wrapper. “Damn it! Why is traffic moving so slow? Stupid rush hour,” she mumbled to herself under her breath.
She raised her knee to steering wheal and let go as snapped the sticks apart. Three packed lanes wedged together rolled forward in a stop and go monotony as she ran the sticks up and down one another. It made her heart race as the carpool lane whipped past her in a blur of busses, packed cars and mini vans with baby seats. A blue mini van shot past her and the yellow and black sticker grew smaller in the distance, “Baby On Board.” She pushed the two sticks harder against each other. “I don’t give a fuck if you have a two month old screaming child that you wont discipline. I just wish I could go as fast as you,” she screamed. Her voice was loud in the empty car.
Still driving with her knees she popped open the Styrofoam lid. The sweat spicy steam rose to her. She scooped the noodles on to her wood shovel and rushed the bite to her mouth. Halfway up the noodles slipped from the sticks and landed on her bare legs, warm and slimy. “Fuck,” she shouted. Dropping the chopsticks into the Styrofoam container she scooped the mess from her skin and stuffed it in her mouth. The sweet grease calmed her nerves, and she let the mouthful roam around her taste buds.
The orange grease on her legs shone against her skin and she laughed. 5:19, 11 minutes. Girl’s gotta eat, she thought as she disregarded the chopsticks and grabbed stringy handful after stringy handful into her mouth. The small bits of chicken were thick and solid against the translucent Pad Thai noodles.
6 minutes, she saw as she closed up the Styrofoam container and put on the floor of the passenger seat. Glancing into the rearview mirror she saw her face decorated with a thin layer of orange. “Where are those stupid napkins,” she talked to herself again as she reached between the passenger seat and the counsel where they had somehow slipped. The thin white paper became orange with the smooth grease and her hands slid it between them with little effect. Searching again she pulled out another napkin. “Taco Bell,” she read aloud, “good thing mom didn’t find that one.”
Her cell phone rang as she wiped her legs clean. She didn’t look at the caller ID.
4 minutes. Her cell phone rang again. She slipped one arm from her t-shirt and then the other. Pausing for a second, she tore the cotton over her head quickly and flung it behind her. The cars in front of her started moving a little faster and she quickly cut in front of a red Honda Civic to her left. It honked. “Yeah, yeah,” she said.
Again her phone rang. She hit the end button. “Get a clue!” 3 minutes. “I’m definitely gonna be late.” She reached into the shopping bag on the floor behind her and pulled out a long black dress. The white slip was stuck to the fabric and she pealed it away. “I’m definitely not wearing you,” she said as she threw it back into the bag.
Balancing the wheel again with her knees she slid the zipper on the dress all the way down. 1 minute. Dropping the dress into her lap moved left again, this time cutting off Dodge Ram. She waved a little thank you. Glancing to her left an old man sat staring at her. She puffed out her chest, her black braw blazing against her white skin. “Fuck you,” she said as she veered off the freeway at her exit.
With her knees again on the steering wheel she slipped the dress over her head and came to a stop at the bottom of the ramp. “Red light. Just my luck.” Her phone rang again. “I’m almost there,” she said into the phone with agitation.
“We need to start warm ups.”
She caught her breath. “Director Hamhell.” Fuck, she thought. “I got stuck in traffic.”
“It is always something.”
“No really, I just got off the freeway.”
“I got stuck in traffic. I had a test. My dog kept me. My strings broke. It is always an excuse with you…” she put down the phone. His voice scratched the air, as she left on the seat beside her. She slipped her dress over her hips and reached for the pair of flats in the shopping bag.
“I know Director. I’m so sorry,” she said as the light turned green, “it wont happen again.”
“IT WONT HAPPEN AGAIN!” he shouted as she put down the phone. His words remained clear from a distance, “again? It wont happen again? This is the last time, you said, four times ago.” She slipped into her left shoe and twisted her body to drive left footed while she lipped into her right shoe. “What am I to think? What am I to believe?” She stopped listening. Think whatever you want, but you know you wont get rid of me. I may be last chair, but I’m better then anyone else there and you know it.
She turned into the parking garage, and hopped from the car. “It’s always something with you,” his voice still shouted through the phone as she picked it up.
She tossed her keys to the valet. “You’re late again,” he grinned.
“Yeah yeah.” Grabbing her violin from the back seat she rushed into an open elevator. Her phone was still an eruption of the directors voice. As the doors opened and she looked at the red faced tuxedo. He pressed end, “you’re late,” he said flatly. He turned on his heal and walked away from her.

Everyone had tuned their instruments and was sitting quietly as she tiptoed to her seat. She set her violin across her lap and tied her hair back into a ponytail, without looking at the raised eyebrows around her.
The symphony opened gracefully and her solo was flawless. She could hear the loud slapping clap of her mother’s hands. They ripped through her and she ran her tongue around her mouth. The small remnants of grease made her smiled to herself.