Status: Completed
Water.
1/1
The rain fell from the sky and rose from the ground in mist(?). Red and green traffic lights could be seen, blurry, through the droplets on the windshield. The wipers swiped them aside and they ran in rivulets down to the hood of the car. Brake lights and headlights reflected in glazed eyes. A fast food restaurant’s neon sign caught that gaze, if only for a moment.
A dark night. The overcast sky gave off no light from the moon or stars. Her open car windows amplified the sounds of tires on wet asphalt. Had she been able to breathe properly, breathe in order to feel life instead of just sustain it, she would have noticed the smoky scent of a fire. It would have reminded her of him.
Cars moved slowly, the wipers scraped across the windshield, and she flinched at the sound. A sad song played lowly and she sang along absently, but no emotion was put into her empty words. Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel. The roads looked different at night. They were just as silent as she was. It was the best time to drive, at night; it was the best time to think.
Trees crowded now. She’d left the city, the towering buildings and quiet plazas. Headlights illuminated the yellow lines and ‘deer crossing’ signs. Her cell phone vibrated in a cup holder - her Mom. She ignored it, needing to drive, needing to think. The tears had stopped once she’d started the car. The sun had gone down, and her anger had dissipated into nothingness.
She drove.
The rain became too much. The wipers were on full speed, and she still couldn’t see out of the windshield. She pulled the car over to the side of the road and rested her head back against the headrest. The road was glossy with water. “What a night,” she breathed.
Cool night air bit her cheeks, turning them pink. Raindrops blew into her face. She could think clearly about everything in the dark.
His eyes, blank and unseeing. Lips parted, mangled, bloody. The image wouldn’t leave her mind, but she could see it better now. The way he looked at her in terror as she whispered kind lies. The crunch of the bike, the squealing of tires, and the blood.
She held his hand while he died.
A shiver. The rain soothed, the inky black surrounded her. The phone vibrated again, and she ignored it again. She couldn’t explain something she didn’t understand herself. The moment she’d caught his gaze as he paid for her coffee, she felt like she’d known him forever.
“Stupid girl,” she murmured.
Hands gripped the steering wheel tight, head rested against the car door. Neither of them could have known what would happen next. They left the coffee shop, one after the other. Turned opposite direction, him on his bike, her on foot. He looked back, she looked back. A car, its tires squealing, plowed over the sidewalk and into him. Tires squealed again. The car drove off.
The rain slowed. She started driving again. Deep, slow, breaths. Fingers numb with cold. She could see it all like a fading dream. With every breath of cold air, the memories settled into the back of her mind. There was only the bleak night. The crisp, clean air. The rainslick road.
If only the nights were longer.
If only the dark could consume her.
She would be swallowed in the comfort of the darkness and never think again.
Lights ahead. An intersection. A gas station. The gas gauge quivered above the E. She pulled into the empty gas station. Her hands shook as she swiped her card and placed the nozzle into the tank. Her jacket sat on a chair in the kitchen—she hadn’t needed it earlier.
A light flickered overhead. Each cool breath she took chilled her to the bone. All she wanted to do was drive. She filled her tank. It was $50 to drive all night. $50 to feel nothing but calm for a few hours. Night was magic; it cleansed the dirt of the day, brought with it a clean slate to muddy.
What if she didn’t stop? Drove on through the night, through the next day, until night again. What if she never went back? Never saw that street again, never graced that coffee shop. The money would run out eventually. Her family would call the police. It wouldn’t last forever. Nothing would.
The fragility of life felt like it balanced on the tips of her fingers. She juggled it without knowing how. She lived it without understanding life.
Back in the car. Down empty streets, across rickety bridges. Buildings crowded around as a city rose up. One she’d seen before but wasn’t familiar with. A bar’s neon sign caught her attention and she parked. A rowdy crowd was inside. They didn’t notice her as she walked in. The bartender eyed her and grimaced.
“Water, please,” she said.
“Okay,” the bartender said disdainfully.
He served her the drink and stepped away to serve other customers. When he returned, the glass was sweating and untouched. “What gives?” he asked.
“I watched a man die today.” She followed a drop of water down the side of the glass with her eyes.
The bartender blew out a breath and shook his head. “That’s heavy stuff.”
“I didn’t even know him.”
“I’d get ya something stronger, but I doubt you’re old enough.”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
The bar emptied slowly. The water sat untouched, ice melting. Soon the bar would close and she’d have to find somewhere else to go, somewhere to drive to. Eyelids drooping low as rain pummeled.
Soon she was the only one left. Head resting on folded arms resting on the wood bar top.
“We’re closing,” the bartender said.
Looking up, she saw him wiping down the counter. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and nodded.
“Bartenders are cheaper than therapists,” he offered, as if prompting her to speak.
“That’s why you have a job.” She sighed.
He smirked. “Lord knows that. Go on then, talk about it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
How could anyone understand that it felt like she was grieving a loved one? A best friend. Despite the fading memories, she could see his blue eyes like morning light peeking through her eyelids.
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
“He bought my coffee. I forgot my wallet and he stepped up and bought my coffee along with his own. Then he and I went separate ways, and when I looked back, a car had gone up on the sidewalk and hit him. I held his hand and watched him breathe his last breath.” The bartender was quiet, no longer wiping the counter. Still watching the glass, she continued. “I feel like I knew him.”
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t.”
A dark night. The overcast sky gave off no light from the moon or stars. Her open car windows amplified the sounds of tires on wet asphalt. Had she been able to breathe properly, breathe in order to feel life instead of just sustain it, she would have noticed the smoky scent of a fire. It would have reminded her of him.
Cars moved slowly, the wipers scraped across the windshield, and she flinched at the sound. A sad song played lowly and she sang along absently, but no emotion was put into her empty words. Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel. The roads looked different at night. They were just as silent as she was. It was the best time to drive, at night; it was the best time to think.
Trees crowded now. She’d left the city, the towering buildings and quiet plazas. Headlights illuminated the yellow lines and ‘deer crossing’ signs. Her cell phone vibrated in a cup holder - her Mom. She ignored it, needing to drive, needing to think. The tears had stopped once she’d started the car. The sun had gone down, and her anger had dissipated into nothingness.
She drove.
The rain became too much. The wipers were on full speed, and she still couldn’t see out of the windshield. She pulled the car over to the side of the road and rested her head back against the headrest. The road was glossy with water. “What a night,” she breathed.
Cool night air bit her cheeks, turning them pink. Raindrops blew into her face. She could think clearly about everything in the dark.
His eyes, blank and unseeing. Lips parted, mangled, bloody. The image wouldn’t leave her mind, but she could see it better now. The way he looked at her in terror as she whispered kind lies. The crunch of the bike, the squealing of tires, and the blood.
She held his hand while he died.
A shiver. The rain soothed, the inky black surrounded her. The phone vibrated again, and she ignored it again. She couldn’t explain something she didn’t understand herself. The moment she’d caught his gaze as he paid for her coffee, she felt like she’d known him forever.
“Stupid girl,” she murmured.
Hands gripped the steering wheel tight, head rested against the car door. Neither of them could have known what would happen next. They left the coffee shop, one after the other. Turned opposite direction, him on his bike, her on foot. He looked back, she looked back. A car, its tires squealing, plowed over the sidewalk and into him. Tires squealed again. The car drove off.
The rain slowed. She started driving again. Deep, slow, breaths. Fingers numb with cold. She could see it all like a fading dream. With every breath of cold air, the memories settled into the back of her mind. There was only the bleak night. The crisp, clean air. The rainslick road.
If only the nights were longer.
If only the dark could consume her.
She would be swallowed in the comfort of the darkness and never think again.
Lights ahead. An intersection. A gas station. The gas gauge quivered above the E. She pulled into the empty gas station. Her hands shook as she swiped her card and placed the nozzle into the tank. Her jacket sat on a chair in the kitchen—she hadn’t needed it earlier.
A light flickered overhead. Each cool breath she took chilled her to the bone. All she wanted to do was drive. She filled her tank. It was $50 to drive all night. $50 to feel nothing but calm for a few hours. Night was magic; it cleansed the dirt of the day, brought with it a clean slate to muddy.
What if she didn’t stop? Drove on through the night, through the next day, until night again. What if she never went back? Never saw that street again, never graced that coffee shop. The money would run out eventually. Her family would call the police. It wouldn’t last forever. Nothing would.
The fragility of life felt like it balanced on the tips of her fingers. She juggled it without knowing how. She lived it without understanding life.
Back in the car. Down empty streets, across rickety bridges. Buildings crowded around as a city rose up. One she’d seen before but wasn’t familiar with. A bar’s neon sign caught her attention and she parked. A rowdy crowd was inside. They didn’t notice her as she walked in. The bartender eyed her and grimaced.
“Water, please,” she said.
“Okay,” the bartender said disdainfully.
He served her the drink and stepped away to serve other customers. When he returned, the glass was sweating and untouched. “What gives?” he asked.
“I watched a man die today.” She followed a drop of water down the side of the glass with her eyes.
The bartender blew out a breath and shook his head. “That’s heavy stuff.”
“I didn’t even know him.”
“I’d get ya something stronger, but I doubt you’re old enough.”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
The bar emptied slowly. The water sat untouched, ice melting. Soon the bar would close and she’d have to find somewhere else to go, somewhere to drive to. Eyelids drooping low as rain pummeled.
Soon she was the only one left. Head resting on folded arms resting on the wood bar top.
“We’re closing,” the bartender said.
Looking up, she saw him wiping down the counter. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and nodded.
“Bartenders are cheaper than therapists,” he offered, as if prompting her to speak.
“That’s why you have a job.” She sighed.
He smirked. “Lord knows that. Go on then, talk about it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
How could anyone understand that it felt like she was grieving a loved one? A best friend. Despite the fading memories, she could see his blue eyes like morning light peeking through her eyelids.
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
“He bought my coffee. I forgot my wallet and he stepped up and bought my coffee along with his own. Then he and I went separate ways, and when I looked back, a car had gone up on the sidewalk and hit him. I held his hand and watched him breathe his last breath.” The bartender was quiet, no longer wiping the counter. Still watching the glass, she continued. “I feel like I knew him.”
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t.”
♠ ♠ ♠
1,145 words(: