He is driving. It seems more of his life he’s driving than not. His back is sore from sitting in the same seat for hours every day. There is a deep impression in his vinyl seat in which he sits. He is listening to the same CD that has been in his player for weeks. He knows every word and every note. It is now just like the engine humming. A background noise with no emotional consequence. The time before this routine was in motion is as hard to remember as first grade to him now. He thinks for a moment of turning into that jersey wall as fast as he can to see what will happen.
He’s seeing a lot out of his car. At least, in the shape of 1 trapezoid, 2 teardrops off to the side, and a rounded rectangle full of what he has faith is behind him. It is up to him wether he should observe from a safe bubble, or roll his window down and hear the ambiance outside. Even though it is getting warmer outside, he decides to stay in his bubble. Outside is like watching a television or going to a really boring movie. Reality is the entirety of what is a few feet in any direction of him: wrappers from food he got in a drive-thru, receipts from oil changes, old coffee cups. He thinks for a moment of turning into that light pole as fast as he can to see what will happen.
He catches himself driving. He doesn’t know exactly how this came to be. He knows that he talked to a friend on the phone, He remembers seeing him, and now the clock says 4:45. It’s night outside, so it’s very late. He figures he is going home. A brief moment of panic spills on him as he considers whether or not he’s missed his exit. He sees that he hasn’t. He considers that if he’s only just come out of his haze, he might have come out at dawn, 50 miles farther down the highway. In short order, he is home. He steps out of his car and feels 4 feet taller. He expels some phlegm and makes it to bed.
He is laying down. It seems more of life he’s laying down than not...
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