You. Not you specifically in the picture (no, your hair was blonde), but somebody like you. You, with your designer sunshades and (blonde) hair swirling in the wind in your ‘weekend’ convertible purchased with a good interest rate from the home equity loan. You were probably going somewhere like Mitchell & Gold to get a new chaise or take your Macbook to get fixed at the Genius Bar or something. Maybe you were on the way to your ranch, or to Austin or Galveston for the weekend.
I was on the way to work when I saw you. I was in the driver’s seat thinking about the first couple of steps from the car door to the front door and how I didn’t want to be that person I needed to be to function at work that day. Then I saw you, driving your convertible. I don’t recall you being especially attractive, but the weather was nice and you were driving a convertible (as you are allowed to do) and the shine of the sun and the wind in the hair will make the most mundane looking folks look and feel better than they actually are. In my mind I might have even made your convertible a tad bit nicer than it was in order to project this notion that I had of you onto you.
There I was, driving to the plantation. There you were, driving to the promised land. You may have been going to the plantation too. But, in my mind you were going somewhere better than me and because of that I hated you. Sure it was petty and small and I recognize and acknowledge that I might have been wrong about all of that. But don’t get it twisted, I still hated you.