February 17 - Road Work

"Morning Steve."
He looked up from his tools and the broken spray can to see who had greeted him.
"Morning Jake."
The thrum of machinery began as the workers began their morning tasks.  Distant calls - not actually so distant - periodically punctuated the work of Stephen Lee.  He fiddled with the nozzle on a spray can that had stopped working midday yesterday.
"Still jammed?"
"Yeah."
Jake uncovered his coffee mug and took a gulp.
"Fuck. That's hot."
"No kidding.  It's coffee."
"What's wrong with the nozzle?"
"Dunno.  I gotta get it working though.  They want me to start the shoulder markers today."
"Really? They're letting traffic through starting this afternoon."
"I know."
Jake clapped him on the shoulder "Good luck man."
"Thanks."
Jake stood. "I gotta go relieve Jay."
"How's he doing?"
"What, since..."
"Yeah."
"Shitty.  He's been working double shifts.  Some guy nearly got run over yesterday.  As it was he lost the tools.  Jay's getting sloppy anyway."
"Huh."
"Yeah.  He's going back to work around noon."
"Why?"
"Says he needs the shifts.  And the money."
"I'll be on the look out then."
"Yeah, do that.  I'm well rested, Jay isn't."
Steve grunted as Jake walked away.  He watched him shake the Slow/Stop sign from his hands and send him to Dan's truck for coffee.  As he wrested the nozzle from the canister, he saw the problem.  It was caked shut with asphalt dust and paint.  Slowly, he chipped the blockage out with a Flathead screwdriver, running the tip between his fingers periodically to keep it clean enough to use.  He heard Jake laughing every so often, joking with the drivers about how long the road work was taking. After a few test sprays against his work pants, he set to work on the shoulder marker.
Painting was a tedious job.  It was a specially designed nozzle, meant only to mark where it was necessary, but the spray inevitably spread further than he intended and so he had to drag the same five feet of stencil down the completed roadway, standing to stretch when cars passed by.
A blue minivan drove cautiously past around noon.  The poor girl looked terrified as she made her way through the work zone - must be a new driver he though to himself - with who must have been her younger brother or the kid she was babysitting peered out through the tinted black window.  Steve watched her as she carefully drove past.  She watched him too - thinking There must be a machine for that and Why is he watching me like that - and sped up slightly as she went past.  To him she looked like a girl he'd seen in a scene from a porno.  The kind you pick up off the street with the promise of a free ride to where ever they're going when in reality the fare is a blow job and a little extra.  The kid stared at him too, with the admiration of a five year old boy that thinks working construction will make him a man.  He watches firemen and police officers with the same wide eyes because he does not yet know that the jobs he will really want are the ones that involve the least brawn, the most brains, and wearing a tie in the middle of June.  The car passes through the work zone in the time it would have taken three seasoned drivers to cover the same distance.  She is scared, but she does not mar the new paint.  Steve has not yet had time to go back through with epoxy to protect his masterpiece.
He finished the shoulder around 10 AM and the epoxy around 11:30.
"Hey Steve!"
He looks up in to the bright face of a man who has not been on site all day and who does have to wear a tie to work.
"Hullo."
"So, I see you're ahead of schedule."
"Am I?"
"Yes sir! We were wondering if you had yellow with you today."
"Why?"
"We'd like you to get started on the median."
"I can't, the barrier's there.  I could only do one line."
"Then do one line!  Stephen -"
"Steve"
"- Steve, we think you're doing a great job on this project, you're great to work with. But if we can get even more ahead of schedule, well the Board of Roads would just be ecstatic!"
"Right, good, fine.  I'll get on it I guess."
"Excellent!  That's great Steve!  Well, I'll see ya tomorrow."
He walked off.  Steve didn't know him, but the project had gone through so many managers now that he didn't really care to try to remedy the situation.
"What was that about?"  Jake had joined him as he watched the suit walk away
"They want me to start on the median."
"Fuck no.  They're crazy."
"Eh.  What can you do?"  He began to unwrap a sandwich from the plastic wrap the Shell station from which he had bought it used to keep it gas station fresh.
"Say no is what you can do.  Jay's back on after lunch, remember?"
"I know, I know.  But the suits want me to start."
"Fuck.  Well, don't get yourself killed OK?"
"I've never tried."
Jake left.  Steve went to his car to grab the yellow and the median stencil.  It was hot.  The noon sun flared out across the sky and ribbon of heat rose up from the fresh asphalt re-releasing the fumes into the air.  He reeled for a moment, then resumed his work.  Foot by foot he marked the half of the median that would be placed on the completed road. He was sloppy, but then it didn't really matter.  The spray on the concrete median would disappear with the marker that protected the rest of the workers.  Jake laughed with another guy on the team - his name might have been Mike, maybe Brett - as he continued to rip up the old bridge.
Another car passed.  Something energy efficient driven by a man who tried too hard not to look at the guys.  He swerved to the side and, as he tried not to hit Steve, he marked the white shoulder line on the other side.
"Son of a bitch."
Steve crossed back to where he had left the white paint and epoxy and crossed back to fix the now smeared line.  It happened too often, and rarely while he was on the job to fix it.  He couldn't help but blame himself, but really it was the suit's fault.  The car wouldn't have needed to swerve if he hadn't been there; but he wouldn't have been there had he not been painting the median.  What did it matter?  The line had to be fixed either way.
He returned to the median.  The middle of the median in fact.  He was half way done.  The sun was beginning to sink a little lower in the sky, but was no less hot and no less bright.  The radio balanced precariously on the concrete barrier whose music could be heard by no one over the jackhammers and drills said it was 2:45.  Steve stood and stretched. He wiped his brow and adjusted his cap, making sure that the brim covered the back of his neck.  He'd go home after this, drink a beer, and maybe find someone to fuck him.  But probably not.  He wasn't that lucky.
He returned to the median.  Moving, foot by foot, down the bridge, he shuffled along.  Somewhere someone yelled out to Jay, but he did not hear.  Somewhere a car skidded, but he did not hear.  Something hit him, but he did not feel.  It was too hot.
Jake ran over.  Steve had fallen on his back, his blood mixing with the yellow paint that would not stop flowing. He had fallen on the nozzle.
"Jay!  You fucking moron!"
He grabbed Jay by the collar and threw him against the concrete.
"You fucking moron!"
"It's not... I'm... I'm sorry!"
Jay groveled.
"It's common!"
"It's common! It's common! You fucking moron!  That's a guy, not a statistic."
"5000 will die every year..."
"5000! Five fucking thousand!"
Jake threw him onto the barrier. Stood back and ran his hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
Steve looked up.  It was all he could do.  All he could think about doing.  Just look up into the searing flare of the sun.