So I Drive

I am driving down the dirt road, aimlessly. From the corner of my eyes, I could see the blurred versions of familiar landmarks as I pass them. I must be speeding. I hate to admit it but this has become what I do every day after work. I don’t go home immediately. I just drive.

I am blessed with an acute sense of self-awareness. I know every facet of my feelings and intentions. I have come to realize that this can be a curse too. How nice it would be if I could be blissfully unaware of my own motives and foibles, so that I can therefore surrender all accountability to the next person, free as a bird. I can’t do that. The price for self-awareness is a permanent aching sense of sadness one can’t shake. You already know that all that life really has to offer is loss and pain, again and again.
Paradise will always be lost in the end. Why was I even born?

But alas, this sense of awareness always fails me after work. I drive around town, burning fuel and not caring, while my mind burns along with it. The only thing I feel then is this sinking sensation I can’t explain, it’s almost as if the passing landmarks are my own life passing me by, a blurry senseless tapestry handed to me by strangers. It was not drawn by me. It was drawn for me: To grow up, grow sad, grow dim and then grow daisies. I don’t have any real control, so I drive. I am trying to clear my head, I think. I keep the windows down a little, to keep them too low will be inviting trouble in the shape of a fist or a weapon. I like the rush of air on my face, makes me feel like I’m flying. Maybe this is what I am looking for: the freedom of a flying bird?

Sometimes I slow down a little to take a longer look at something I find somewhat interesting. A well-sculptured physique in tight jeans, a callipygian mirage, offers a brief stop to my racing train of thoughts. A welcome back to the real world that doesn’t last long. Occasionally it’s a conflict: Two bodies locked in a grim embrace, veins and muscles tightly knotted as others gather to cheer and jeer. I never watch for long. I have a long way to drive before I run out of sadness

I put on some music, always the sad type so that the car becomes a cave of despair, my cave of despair. The road stretches ahead of me. It will never end until I say so.

My phone rings. It’s the wife calling.

“Baby, where are you?”

I could tell from her voice that tears are nearby, “I’m on my way home.”

“From where? It’s 11.30 already!”

I pause. I didn’t know time had drifted by that fast. Where did it go? But why doesn’t she ever get used to this? It’s the same tear-tinged conversation every night. She thinks I’m with another woman. That’s where this is going, as sure as I never know where I am going on nights like this. She will blurt out the accusation soon enough. I have to reassure her but for how long? The truth is crazier than her fears. I’m just driving, ma’am, aimlessly weaving through the roads, feeling the wind hit my face, a sensation like flying. It’s me catching my soul back after my soulless job has held it captive all day and before I get to the house and lose it again. It’s me trying to make sense of the vast emptiness my life has become. Most guys use drink and smoke to make sense of things. I just drive.

“I’m on my way.” The words poured out of my mouth meaninglessly. “Your food is on the table. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay.”

No need to ask about the kids, they are most likely fast asleep. I haven’t seen them in weeks. I’m out before they wake and back when they are fast asleep.

I will see them on Saturday and play with them. Fulfill my daddy duties. I turn the car left and guide it towards my house.

I suddenly realize that my vision is blurred because of the tears in my eyes. I didn’t even know I was crying all this while. I will make sure to wipe it all off before anyone sees them. Men don’t cry.

Oh well.

And I will be back tomorrow, for I still don’t know what I’m looking for.

Check out stories from our honourable mentions in the Short Story Challenge#1