Driving Nowhere
One.
You refuse to talk to me, your lip quivers and trembles with either fury or guilt. I can’t decide which. What does it matter? What’s done is done and there’s nothing we can do about it. Your eyes are blank, staring up at the never-ending haze of streetlights, seeing nothing but darkness.
My exhausted eyes strain against the lazy glow of the dying sun, concentrating intently on the road ahead. The vast expanse of tarmac glitters with fairy dust and broken glass, twinkling in the dim, retreating light. The silhouettes of naked trees flash erratically past us on a loop, the twisted, ugly limbs sway in the breeze. You trace the path of a fallen raindrop with your finger, watch it weave its way down the grimy glass, a transparent snake slithering further and further away from Heaven.
I spot a weather-beaten figure on the horizon, glowing in the vibrant headlights, head bent downwards against the elements. Between his trembling hands, a slice of sodden cardboard screams “Anywhere but here.” I can guess how he feels but then again, he’s just a blur in my mirror, a tiny dot against the bloody backdrop of soot and stars. Insignificant. I don’t care about him. How can I relate to a stranger if I can’t even understand your convoluted mind, my dear? Till death do us part. What a joke.
I can’t remember much of what happened last night. The mind reels, the stomach turns. My breath is still stale, still foul from the nicotine, the drugs and the booze. I can’t remember who I used to be. A pleasant boy. Simple, yes, but never violent or rude. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. So, where d’ya get those bruises, baby? Did you fall down the stairs again or walk into another door? Ha. Likely story.
I can’t remember where we said we were going, what we were doing. How were we going to make this work? Tell me, sweetheart. Why are we here?
You always told me you’d be famous. Your name would be flashing neon all over this city. Twinkle twinkle, little star and all that jazz. You’d put on your dancing shoes, teeter on your stiletto heels, twirl around in that little black number, scream poetry at the night sky. You looked so sweet back then, Marilyn. You took care of yourself, curled your hair, painted your nails. You were precious, angelic. Pristine and perfect.
Just look at you now.
Poor little China Doll sulking pathetically beside me, vacant blue eyes painted the sickening yellow of healing flesh, porcelain skin chipped and darkened. I used to know you. Daddy’s girl. Once upon a time, your smile wasn’t created by fifteen layers of cheap rouge; your eyes weren’t bloodshot and blind, seeing life though a cynical, cruel lens. Once upon a time, the hem of your skirt touched your knees, the fragrance of your skin was pure and innocent, untainted by his groping paws. Tell me, sweetheart, did he taste good? Sickly sweet on your whore’s tongue, tantalising your taste buds.
You wouldn’t be here if your body wasn’t chained to the seat. Those bounds will never break, sweetheart. They’re designed to hold everything together, keep you from falling apart the next time your life collides with another obstacle. I forced you to wear it, didn’t I? Wrestled you into the chains of wedlock, dragged you kicking and screaming down the wrong red carpet towards the altar of regret. At least that’s what your father thought.
Bad influence. Shameful reputation. Womanizer.
And where’s your father now?
Six feet under, leaving your apathetic mother to clean away forty years of beer cans and cigarette butts, leaving a jailbird’s legacy in his wake. And I’m the mistake? I’m the devil that stole your freedom? I’m the leech that sucked the life out of you? Don’t make me laugh. You never had a life. You never had freedom. You were born into a dictatorship, a violent battle between man and wife. I was your rebellion.
Screw this. You’re not even listening to me. You’re off in Wonderland, chasing rainbows and dreams. Your chapped lips smile serenely as you tumble down the rabbit hole, losing sanity inch by miserable inch. Maybe it’s nicer there. Who knows? I was never one for fairytales. Happily ever after does not exist. You live. You screw. You bleed. You die.
You were never going to be a princess, Cinderella. You were born in the gutter and there you shall remain forever. Boy, if I had the guts now, I’d throw you out and watch you bounce alone across the tarmac, let you find your own way home. If, of course, you survived the shock, the realisation that you’d have to face the world without some poor, naïve simpleton to hold your hand. Oh yes, I’d love to see you hurtling through oblivion, clutching your cheap, knock off Prada handbag to your undersized chest, screaming for forgiveness.
But, for some reason, the door remains firmly locked. We drift effortlessly through the pitch-black void that surrounds us, the purr of the engine somehow sounds softer now. My pulse slows; the adrenaline dissolves in my veins. I look at you and half a smile appears on my sleep-deprived face. Not a sneer, not a grimace. A smile. Your breaths last much longer now, lips parted slightly, eyelids closed against the world. The lines of bitterness and resentment are gone from your features, the contours of your face rise and fall smoothly. You remind me of the girl I once loved, the girl I used to know.
This will happen time and time again, you know. We’ll do this for the rest of our lives, driving nowhere with nothing but regret and shame to fuel us, to push us a little further over the edge.
But, I guess there’s some solace, some comfort, in the fact we won’t have to drive this journey alone.
My exhausted eyes strain against the lazy glow of the dying sun, concentrating intently on the road ahead. The vast expanse of tarmac glitters with fairy dust and broken glass, twinkling in the dim, retreating light. The silhouettes of naked trees flash erratically past us on a loop, the twisted, ugly limbs sway in the breeze. You trace the path of a fallen raindrop with your finger, watch it weave its way down the grimy glass, a transparent snake slithering further and further away from Heaven.
I spot a weather-beaten figure on the horizon, glowing in the vibrant headlights, head bent downwards against the elements. Between his trembling hands, a slice of sodden cardboard screams “Anywhere but here.” I can guess how he feels but then again, he’s just a blur in my mirror, a tiny dot against the bloody backdrop of soot and stars. Insignificant. I don’t care about him. How can I relate to a stranger if I can’t even understand your convoluted mind, my dear? Till death do us part. What a joke.
I can’t remember much of what happened last night. The mind reels, the stomach turns. My breath is still stale, still foul from the nicotine, the drugs and the booze. I can’t remember who I used to be. A pleasant boy. Simple, yes, but never violent or rude. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. So, where d’ya get those bruises, baby? Did you fall down the stairs again or walk into another door? Ha. Likely story.
I can’t remember where we said we were going, what we were doing. How were we going to make this work? Tell me, sweetheart. Why are we here?
You always told me you’d be famous. Your name would be flashing neon all over this city. Twinkle twinkle, little star and all that jazz. You’d put on your dancing shoes, teeter on your stiletto heels, twirl around in that little black number, scream poetry at the night sky. You looked so sweet back then, Marilyn. You took care of yourself, curled your hair, painted your nails. You were precious, angelic. Pristine and perfect.
Just look at you now.
Poor little China Doll sulking pathetically beside me, vacant blue eyes painted the sickening yellow of healing flesh, porcelain skin chipped and darkened. I used to know you. Daddy’s girl. Once upon a time, your smile wasn’t created by fifteen layers of cheap rouge; your eyes weren’t bloodshot and blind, seeing life though a cynical, cruel lens. Once upon a time, the hem of your skirt touched your knees, the fragrance of your skin was pure and innocent, untainted by his groping paws. Tell me, sweetheart, did he taste good? Sickly sweet on your whore’s tongue, tantalising your taste buds.
You wouldn’t be here if your body wasn’t chained to the seat. Those bounds will never break, sweetheart. They’re designed to hold everything together, keep you from falling apart the next time your life collides with another obstacle. I forced you to wear it, didn’t I? Wrestled you into the chains of wedlock, dragged you kicking and screaming down the wrong red carpet towards the altar of regret. At least that’s what your father thought.
Bad influence. Shameful reputation. Womanizer.
And where’s your father now?
Six feet under, leaving your apathetic mother to clean away forty years of beer cans and cigarette butts, leaving a jailbird’s legacy in his wake. And I’m the mistake? I’m the devil that stole your freedom? I’m the leech that sucked the life out of you? Don’t make me laugh. You never had a life. You never had freedom. You were born into a dictatorship, a violent battle between man and wife. I was your rebellion.
Screw this. You’re not even listening to me. You’re off in Wonderland, chasing rainbows and dreams. Your chapped lips smile serenely as you tumble down the rabbit hole, losing sanity inch by miserable inch. Maybe it’s nicer there. Who knows? I was never one for fairytales. Happily ever after does not exist. You live. You screw. You bleed. You die.
You were never going to be a princess, Cinderella. You were born in the gutter and there you shall remain forever. Boy, if I had the guts now, I’d throw you out and watch you bounce alone across the tarmac, let you find your own way home. If, of course, you survived the shock, the realisation that you’d have to face the world without some poor, naïve simpleton to hold your hand. Oh yes, I’d love to see you hurtling through oblivion, clutching your cheap, knock off Prada handbag to your undersized chest, screaming for forgiveness.
But, for some reason, the door remains firmly locked. We drift effortlessly through the pitch-black void that surrounds us, the purr of the engine somehow sounds softer now. My pulse slows; the adrenaline dissolves in my veins. I look at you and half a smile appears on my sleep-deprived face. Not a sneer, not a grimace. A smile. Your breaths last much longer now, lips parted slightly, eyelids closed against the world. The lines of bitterness and resentment are gone from your features, the contours of your face rise and fall smoothly. You remind me of the girl I once loved, the girl I used to know.
This will happen time and time again, you know. We’ll do this for the rest of our lives, driving nowhere with nothing but regret and shame to fuel us, to push us a little further over the edge.
But, I guess there’s some solace, some comfort, in the fact we won’t have to drive this journey alone.