27.
As the stranger drove us onward through the stormy night to a destination unkown, a debate raged in my head. The argument was whether or not I should tell him where I was from. The debate concluded in a compromise. "Michigan," I lied.
"Well fancy that," said the driver with a laugh. He paused, then laughed again to himself. I waited for the man to say something else, but he didn't.
After a few minutes a new voice entered my head, demanding that I ask the man about the anniversary, but I was sure I didn't want to know. The voice didn't care, though, and each time I tried to block it out the voice got louder until I could stand it no longer.
"So," I said and hesitated. Then, with my eyes closed, I forced the words off my tongue and into the car, "What's this the anniversary of?" For a minute the man didn't react and I wasn't sure he heard me. I was going to repeat the question when he turned to me suddenly, and the words stopped in my throat. I found myself captured by an intense, but stangely vacant glare for a few tense seconds, then the eerie smile returned to his face. He chuckled faintly.
"Pal, that's something I ask myself every day," he said, giving the last two words special emphasis. When he didn't say anything more I struggled to find a reply, but failed. My eyes drifted back to the windshield...
Visions of my impending doom engulfed my consciousness. I saw myself being beaten to death with a baseball bat, or being torn apart with a machete, or countless other scenerios involving pain. I tried slyly to jiggle the handle, but just as I touched it he cleared his throat again.
"You have any kids, Paul?" asked the man.
"Uh," I thought, "not really."
The driver's frown that followed didn't make me feel any better.
"Uh," I said my eyes returning to the windshield, then more urgently, "Hey!" Where was the road? As I watched, a cactus bounced off the front of the car, spinning into the sky and out of sight. The driver stared at me. "Look, man, whatever you want, name it. You want money? Fine. Just stop the car." The man continued to stare at me, and I realized that for the second time that tactic had failed. But I didn't have much time to feel bad about it, because a couple of seconds later the car crashed into a large boulder and stopped, throwing me forward. My head hit the dashboard and I sagged back into my seat on the rebound, not sure if I was still conscious or not. As the debris settled out of the air I saw, through the spots of light dancing in my eyes, that the man was still staring at me.
"So," he said. "You want to know the story, do you?" I didn't make any motion. "Well," he unbuckled his seat belt and threw his legs up on the dash, reclining his seat and pulling a cigarette from the front pocket of his shirt. "Well, alright then. You got a light, bub?"
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"Well fancy that," said the driver with a laugh. He paused, then laughed again to himself. I waited for the man to say something else, but he didn't.
After a few minutes a new voice entered my head, demanding that I ask the man about the anniversary, but I was sure I didn't want to know. The voice didn't care, though, and each time I tried to block it out the voice got louder until I could stand it no longer.
"So," I said and hesitated. Then, with my eyes closed, I forced the words off my tongue and into the car, "What's this the anniversary of?" For a minute the man didn't react and I wasn't sure he heard me. I was going to repeat the question when he turned to me suddenly, and the words stopped in my throat. I found myself captured by an intense, but stangely vacant glare for a few tense seconds, then the eerie smile returned to his face. He chuckled faintly.
"Pal, that's something I ask myself every day," he said, giving the last two words special emphasis. When he didn't say anything more I struggled to find a reply, but failed. My eyes drifted back to the windshield...
Visions of my impending doom engulfed my consciousness. I saw myself being beaten to death with a baseball bat, or being torn apart with a machete, or countless other scenerios involving pain. I tried slyly to jiggle the handle, but just as I touched it he cleared his throat again.
"You have any kids, Paul?" asked the man.
"Uh," I thought, "not really."
The driver's frown that followed didn't make me feel any better.
"Uh," I said my eyes returning to the windshield, then more urgently, "Hey!" Where was the road? As I watched, a cactus bounced off the front of the car, spinning into the sky and out of sight. The driver stared at me. "Look, man, whatever you want, name it. You want money? Fine. Just stop the car." The man continued to stare at me, and I realized that for the second time that tactic had failed. But I didn't have much time to feel bad about it, because a couple of seconds later the car crashed into a large boulder and stopped, throwing me forward. My head hit the dashboard and I sagged back into my seat on the rebound, not sure if I was still conscious or not. As the debris settled out of the air I saw, through the spots of light dancing in my eyes, that the man was still staring at me.
"So," he said. "You want to know the story, do you?" I didn't make any motion. "Well," he unbuckled his seat belt and threw his legs up on the dash, reclining his seat and pulling a cigarette from the front pocket of his shirt. "Well, alright then. You got a light, bub?"
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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