The way it works is so organized, so accurate—one mechanical part working in harmony with a multitude of others in order to create motion. The human body is the same. A chain of reactions monitored by organs that are so delicately tuned, cooperating, functioning together in a delicate balance. If one of those organs fails, the body fails. If one of the engine parts fails, the car fails.
However, everything is working well as I steer the Volvo in the direction of the city; it feels as though my body and the car are almost one machine, coordinating in unison. Left. Right, left, right. I pass the other vehicles on the freeway, the wet whooshing sounds of tires on wet blacktop growing louder and fading away as I pass and leave them behind. The squeaky drag of the windshield wipers; my breathing; the low hum of the radio; radio announcers talking in lulling deep voices; the rain lightly drumming on the roof of the car. The drive is almost hypnotic.
I know where I’m heading and it isn’t back to Pippa’s. I may have been a little socially distant around my work colleagues, but I was never a complete shut-in. I have Oliver, and I have Suresh. And I have an on-call room at the hospital that I can easily spend the night in without anyone bothering me. It won’t be a problem; everyone else seems to live in the hospital already as it is. I’m due back to work later in the week, so no one will be all that surprised to see me, anyway.
I feel more and more confident about my decision as I travel in the direction of St. Peter’s. I’m even hoping that maybe the night shift will need covering and I can get some hours in the ER. The hustle and bustle, the rush of reviving someone. Yeah, that’s exactly what I need. Outside of the hospital I feel less in control. Inside the walls of my work place, everything changes. Everything solidifies, becomes more real. I’m in control there. I am the one with the power.
I change lanes, passing more vehicles. The bright headlights of the other cars create white spears of light into the darkness, illuminating individual raindrops for a moment before they vanish in the blink of an eye. An intense light glares at me in the rearview—some asshole with his high beams on. I angle the mirror down, but the lights seem to grow even brighter.
“Back up, buddy. What, you wanna climb right up into my ass?” It’s not safe that he’s so close. I move back to the right-hand lane, growling a little under my breath as I give the bastard room to move past me. He doesn’t move past me, though. He follows me into the other lane.
A sinking chord of dread pulls taut inside me as the car behind creeps even closer this time. Far, far, far too close. I’m being followed. Adrenalin pulses into me, and it feels as though my veins are carrying electric currents through them, like there are too-hot wires burning just beneath my skin. This is bad. This is really bad. There’s no way for me to pull off the road, no exit for me to take that will lead me to safety. I’ve forgotten all about getting to St. Peter’s now; the first store, gas or cop station I come across, I’m getting the hell out of this car and in front of some witnesses. Charlie’s guys can’t shoot me in front of witnesses. Can they? My foot hits the accelerator, making the Volvo roar. Screw the speed limit. Screw safe driving in the rain. I am getting the hell away from this guy. It seems he might have other ideas, though.
Crunch.
The Volvo lurches as the car behind makes impact. The sound of crumpling metal blocks out all other sound. No more tires on wet blacktop. No more raindrops pattering on the roof. Only the screech of complaining steel.
“Shit!” The car jolts forward, skidding a little, and I almost lose the back end. “What the fuck !?”
My foot slams down on the gas again as I steer into the spin. “Go, go, go!” I shout it, as if sheer will power will right the car and make it move faster. But it’s not moving
However, everything is working well as I steer the Volvo in the direction of the city; it feels as though my body and the car are almost one machine, coordinating in unison. Left. Right, left, right. I pass the other vehicles on the freeway, the wet whooshing sounds of tires on wet blacktop growing louder and fading away as I pass and leave them behind. The squeaky drag of the windshield wipers; my breathing; the low hum of the radio; radio announcers talking in lulling deep voices; the rain lightly drumming on the roof of the car. The drive is almost hypnotic.
I know where I’m heading and it isn’t back to Pippa’s. I may have been a little socially distant around my work colleagues, but I was never a complete shut-in. I have Oliver, and I have Suresh. And I have an on-call room at the hospital that I can easily spend the night in without anyone bothering me. It won’t be a problem; everyone else seems to live in the hospital already as it is. I’m due back to work later in the week, so no one will be all that surprised to see me, anyway.
I feel more and more confident about my decision as I travel in the direction of St. Peter’s. I’m even hoping that maybe the night shift will need covering and I can get some hours in the ER. The hustle and bustle, the rush of reviving someone. Yeah, that’s exactly what I need. Outside of the hospital I feel less in control. Inside the walls of my work place, everything changes. Everything solidifies, becomes more real. I’m in control there. I am the one with the power.
I change lanes, passing more vehicles. The bright headlights of the other cars create white spears of light into the darkness, illuminating individual raindrops for a moment before they vanish in the blink of an eye. An intense light glares at me in the rearview—some asshole with his high beams on. I angle the mirror down, but the lights seem to grow even brighter.
“Back up, buddy. What, you wanna climb right up into my ass?” It’s not safe that he’s so close. I move back to the right-hand lane, growling a little under my breath as I give the bastard room to move past me. He doesn’t move past me, though. He follows me into the other lane.
A sinking chord of dread pulls taut inside me as the car behind creeps even closer this time. Far, far, far too close. I’m being followed. Adrenalin pulses into me, and it feels as though my veins are carrying electric currents through them, like there are too-hot wires burning just beneath my skin. This is bad. This is really bad. There’s no way for me to pull off the road, no exit for me to take that will lead me to safety. I’ve forgotten all about getting to St. Peter’s now; the first store, gas or cop station I come across, I’m getting the hell out of this car and in front of some witnesses. Charlie’s guys can’t shoot me in front of witnesses. Can they? My foot hits the accelerator, making the Volvo roar. Screw the speed limit. Screw safe driving in the rain. I am getting the hell away from this guy. It seems he might have other ideas, though.
Crunch.
The Volvo lurches as the car behind makes impact. The sound of crumpling metal blocks out all other sound. No more tires on wet blacktop. No more raindrops pattering on the roof. Only the screech of complaining steel.
“Shit!” The car jolts forward, skidding a little, and I almost lose the back end. “What the fuck !?”
My foot slams down on the gas again as I steer into the spin. “Go, go, go!” I shout it, as if sheer will power will right the car and make it move faster. But it’s not moving
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