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Weird little story I wrote a while ago: strange to the max.
I found this one in an old floppy that dates back almost 4 years. Very nostalgic. Thought I'd share.
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Homecoming:
Highways are roads that extend forever in either direction. In front of me, following the gaze of my eyes, the black asphalt extended toward that dull red glow hiding somewhere beneath a clear horizon. Behind me, through either mirror, the road extended toward the same horizon, the same dull, boring, rusted horizon that blended in perfectly without the highlighting glow of a shy, red nimbus.
I run for the horizon. I run to leap over it and crush the sun beneath my smoking tires. I am Hercules. This gas pedal is my arrow. I am Hod. This wheel is my mistletoe. That flaming wreckage hiding behind a division of heaven and earth is my Apollo, my Baldir. My thoughts float atop the soothing notes of Beethoven drifting out of the radio like ambrosia on MSG, and I feel the smooth texture of the leather seats cradling my back through my shirt. Beethoven was deaf. He didn’t have to deal with sirens that circle by his house at night, or children crying because they’re scared he’s going to cut them open, or middle aged men moaning and groaning because you can’t prescribe painkillers for a simple migraine. He didn’t have to deal with any of that garbage, and so he’s free to hear the music and attend to its details.
Without the sun I would see clearer.
My fingers drummed against the wheel. “Exit 15”, the sign said as it flashed me by without a “Hello” or a “Good to see you again” even though I’ve met it every day for the last five years. Six more exits left. I began thinking about what awaited me at home, after a long day of hard, honest work. I began thinking about the TV and what shows were on. I began thinking about the computer, and what witty retort I would post on a certain message board against a certain board troll, I began thinking about the dead wife, my kitty, who’s no doubt hungering for a can of Meowmix. I wonder if the insurance company got back to me about that brochure I requested. I decided the first thing I would do when I got home was to check the answering machine.
That was when the car behind me dropped out of view.
Something didn’t seem right with my train of thought, so like a good conductor, I backtracked through the cars double-checking to see if I missed ticketing anyone. Dead wife? Sarah wasn’t dead. She’s fine. She’s probably sitting at home now taking care of the twins, Robbie and Peter. I shook my head a bit. Something still seemed wrong. I wracked by brains and shook my head harder. I don’t have kids. The realization dawned on me like sunlight piercing through a window at dawn. What kids? Sarah died a year after our marriage; car accident.
I was completely alone on the highway.
I thought I was going crazy. I probably was. It was nothing, I convinced myself. Day after day at the same clinic bothered by the same patients will drive a person crazy at times. I anxiously awaited the next exit sign so I would be back in my house to cuddle up with Sarah and the kids in front of the TV just in time for Tom and Jerry… well, if Sarah weren’t dead and we had kids… You’d think a sane man would know whether or not his wife was alive or whether he had kids. Okay, I’m crazy, I decided. Work was probably more stressing than usual and all I have to do is go home, get a little rest, and everything will be fine. Temporary amnesia… normal at my age, I’ll just have to deal with it.
The next exit sign was nowhere in sight. I am completely alone on the high way.
Sleep. That’s what I need. Sleep. I’ll hit the sack as soon as I got home. Something clicked in my mind. No I couldn’t sleep. I have to proofread Peter’s college essay and help Robbie with his science project. Their faces crept up from underneath some long forgotten cache in my psyche in crystal clarity, along with an image of Sarah holding them. “She brought a new dress since she died,” was the only thought that sprang into my mind.
Nothing happened on the road. The next exit sign never came.
This was wrong. This was horribly wrong. How can I forget something so utterly important? Worse, how I can have two distinct and contradictory memories at the same time? I could clearly remember the faces of my children, yet with the same clarity, I remember Sarah’s funeral. I can clearly see her in a black gown, her belly full like a crescent moon, overlooking the depression in the earth where the coffin, my coffin, was being lowered to become one with the earth.
Time is now. Past tenses died with the softening of the earth beneath my back.
I can feel the cold hard leather through my shirt, cradling my back. My dashboard is the coffin lid. I can see the road ahead through it. I can see the tears that fall, the China rose that rests here above my chest, through her belly where the children laugh, grow, play…
I sail like an arrow tipped with mistletoe towards the horizon. The empty road is no longer a journey but a home, and I am its destination. The horizon broadens. I come for the sun god..
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