February 02, 2016: Middle Week [fiction]

I should be driving the car which spins out to send sparks over the divider. It is almost four and the sun is setting. Window glass scatters like spittle over the highway’s ambering surface. I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the passing knife breeze of cars.

This man will lose three fingers from his left hand and wear scar tattoos for the rest of his life. His daughter will jolt awake at night, reliving the same instant that I caused for a nudge ahead in traffic, but this wasn’t me. How I am the world. How I’ve caused aids and Taylor Swift and Solar Flares. We are the one nothing, together.

Anyway, I take his twisted bleeding fingers and haul away from burning oil then return for the little girl. I drop us far from the wreck and pant amid their gasping. I feel cold all over and the girl is starting to scream again but it is all very over.

I’m wrong about everything. I should have mentioned that before. He fumbles out a cellphone and starts telling Mark about the whole thing. He is sobbing too, midway through words and then sees his other hand mangled in half. There are pieces of glass inside his shoulders and torso and the man just sits down.

The police come and I talk. There isn’t very much to say. I was only there. It’s difficult to make my mind about this so I twist inside and go home afterward. This I the point, or it should be, but it still feels like so much vapid punctuation to my running journal. The sun goes down finally before I get home and there is left over stir fry in the fridge.

I think I should write this down somewhere, but it’s easiest to just remember and pretend a significance. It takes convincing to return. There is time for that.

The night after I meet my girlfriend at this burger place we know and order vegetarian. She asks how the last few days have been and I don’t bring that up because it feels gaudy to mention myself.

After a while she steps outside to smoke and I stay watching the hockey game in silent. Across the room another few people are talking close with nervous gestures. I look aback and tow of them are kissing heavily while the other drinks a slow beer.

I find her outside just watching cars pass. She laughs at something but won’t tell me about it and keeps looking away.

In the darkness alone, hours later I breathe rhythmically and watch the ceiling. A strong wind keeps rising until my bike falls over outside. Still it takes longer to fade.

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