"The Light Changes Color," by Thomas Barthauer

It was the week after the wedding and Mara was alone in her car, which had never smelled new, waiting for a red light to change. Heavy snow was tapping on the roof, the windows, begging for shelter, swirling and spinning--but she didn’t let it in. That would be silly. Her father had lost a car by leaving the sunroof open for the snow. It wasn’t good to let the snow in.

Besides, the sun had set anyway.

Mara rotated her ring idly. It felt strange--taboo, even—like she was a little girl playing with her mother’s jewelry. Her mother would find her, and tease her about getting married and moving out, but Mara would insist on staying forever and ever.

Mara drummed her fingers on the wheel and checked the clock. James would be home by now, in their little apartment.

Right beside the clock was a taped up, faded picture of her on her fifth birthday, grinning wildly. She was clutching Snow White, the gray stuffed rabbit, her best friend until she grew up and got real friends. Mara wondered if Snow White was still at her parents’ house. Probably in a box somewhere, resenting her.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

Snow White got her name when Mara left her in the car by accident and she got buried with snow. Mara imagined it was heavy and choking, a weight that built and built, one snowflake at a time; a weight that made every breath a struggle. And sometimes, for moments—at night, alone—breathing didn’t feel worth the struggle.

Sometimes opening the sunroof lets in darker things than snow.

A horn slapped Mara’s focus back toward the road. The light was green, despite all the snow, and her husband was waiting. It wasn’t good to sit around remembering all day. Sometimes opening the sunroof just lets in the sun.

Author’s Note

I started by trying an approach similar to “Dancing with Cobweb” for this story, characterizing Mara mostly in isolation. Much like the boy from “Cobweb,” the character is realized through thoughts and memories, with a sprinkle of small action. Unlike that story, however, my protagonist is actually completely alone.

I think it worked fairly well. It’s definitely only the tip of the iceberg, but I tried to put enough in there that a reader could make out at least the shadow of what’s below the surface. There’s only so much that can happen between a red light and a green light.