Day 87 - Late Night Driving

 Late Night Driving

 Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

The radio stopped working. What was he supposed to do about that? First the CD player, now, the radio. Everything was cheap and made to fall apart. There was already a hole in his sock. Vic had noticed it other day. A pair that was perhaps a year old. Maybe more. He couldn’t remember. Certainly not more than two. Either way too soon for holes to spontaneously appear.

Earlier there had been a movie on about two degenerate gamblers road-tripping their way south, stopping at every form of gambling establishment along the way. Race tracks, horses, card clubs, casinos, back-room poker games, bookies. On and on it went. They won some, but most lost. Money, friends, family. It was sad and depressing, until the final scene, when instead of killing themselves, they bet everything they had on the longest odds possible at roulette. And of course, won. Because people like happy endings. Never mind the hours of tragedy and ruined lives. Somehow there was supposed to be a positive lesson in there somewhere.

It was insulting.

Dreams and fiction and half-baked advice were all the same. People don’t like the truth. They get enough pain day-to-day. There’s no reason to read or watch or play more of it. They call that escapism.

Vic had had enough of escapism. He had had enough of realism as well. Both got tedious as monotony crept it. Maybe he had just had too many years under his belt. Seen too much. Got too jaded. But happy endings were annoying and tragic endings were too depressing.

Vic liked to drive around at night when there were fewer cars on the road. That was nice, not being stuck in traffic. He got to be by himself, roll the window down and feel the air on his face. He listened to the music of his youth. But not now. Now there was silence.

Too much silence and the loneliness crept in.

He could buy a new radio. He just didn’t want to. It was annoying. It was just one more thing that didn’t work right and was there to bug him.

A different week or month or year and it might not matter. He had been happy before. He had enjoyed his thoughts before. There had been other voices in the car before. Laughter and conversation and tears and singing along and everything in-between. But not now. Now he was left alone.

Vic sped up and let the wind really kick across his face. The sound of the wind on the freeway was almost enough to fill the void. Almost loud enough so he didn’t have to hear himself think. Almost, but not quite.