On My Way
Moonlight slants from the sky, cutting through the misty haze. Slowly his head rises from his knees, heartbeat in his temple. He tries to string together memories, but they scatter, like pearls from a broken necklace. A long moment and his eyes open. Through cracked lenses he watches the dice swing from his rear view mirror. A two and a five. Crisp, white papers from a briefcase lay strewn over seats, cover the floor. He lifts a hand to his face: a deep red gash runs down his palm, shimmering with shattered glass.
His beat-up sedan barrels down the slick road as he turns off the screeching windshield wipers. God, that was a bad storm. Unusual. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to catch a breath. Yea, that’s it, just the damn storm. He steals a quick glance down and sees a keychain photo bouncing anxiously in the cup holder, the one of his little girl in her good Sunday dress. His shoulders tighten, and he swallows. Maybe I should stop, he thinks, his right foot tapping the brake. But then people’d know. And what if that guy is— he turns up the radio, lets it drown the unfinished thought. The outline of the mountains like a floating, blurry line of blue-black clouds. Far behind him, twinkly lights.
He puts on his wire-rimmed glasses, strains his eyes to see street signs through the torrential rain. A crack of thunder disrupts his concentration, so loud it jostles the dice hanging from his rearview mirror. He likes the rain, especially heavy rains like this. Is this the exit? He turns on his blinker. Still, it would’ve been nice if those Ohio guys had shown up on time. He’d rather watch the rain through his apartment window then listen to it pound the windshield like thousands of angry fists. No, it’s the next exit, he turns his blinker off and straightens his car back in the center of the lane. Two yellow headlights appear in the corner of his eye, growing rapidly, he blinks and then they fill his view. A horn blares.
I’ll be home soon, he says. I really shouldn’t go any faster, it just started pouring. Do you want me to get myself killed just to save a few damn minutes? His voice rises. Well what do you think I’m doing at the bar, having a party? It’s my job. So I’ll quit then, be home all the time and she just won’t go to college, that’s what you want? He listens, then speaks in a low voice. Tell her I said goodnight. And I love her. Tell her that, too. Yea, I’ll come in quiet. He hangs up his cell phone. Leaning to the right, he tosses it in the glove compartment. Then sits back up sees a car in front of him jerks tries to swerve presses his hand on the horn shouts slams his foot down on the brake. Useless on the slippery road.
He sits down with a huff at the end of the bar and removes his glasses, checks his watch. He recognizes the bartender, sort of a friend, real nice guy, and he asks him if the guys from Cincinnati got here. Not yet, the bartender replies, filling a glass with ice, so I guess you won’t be getting home any earlier than I will. Guess not, he murmurs, catches the gin and tonic and as it slides across the shiny oak. He sips his drink and asks the bartender how he’s been, how’s that kid of his. Good, her first day of school was today, the guy says as he searches for a stirring straw. Can’t wait to see her, but sure as hell not looking forward to driving home in that rain. Two men stand stiffly by the doorway, must be the out-of-towners. He picks up his briefcase. I don’t mind it so much, he says. He pulls a few bills out of his wallet. No, I don’t mind the rain so much. The bartender nods as he takes the money, tells him to be careful out there anyway, but he’s already started across the room.
