last thing I remember, I was driving to work and I was listening to Radiohead—“Idioteque”—and I was in a hurry and worried about being late, and I still wasn’t sure what I was going to tell Smeagol—was I going back to training, or not—and the weather was really really beautiful for the first time in a long time (actually, everybody’s been saying for a month how nice it is, but this was the first time I noticed).
The sky was perfectly sky blue and not that hazy blah color that it usually is, and the temperature was just perfect and it was just humid enough without being too humid, and it smelled like everybody between Athens and Coolville had just mowed their lawns and it seemed like everywhere there were these purple blooming bushes and white blooming trees and yellow blooming dandelions and birds were flittering from tree to tree and people were waving and I was really really high.
But I was still planning to go to work. Seriously.
I had my business casual blue shirt already tucked into my business casual khakis, which matched my business casual tan socks. I’d even had my business casual brown shoes tied and my business casual reversible belt flipped over to the brown side.
I wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble if I’d never planned to go to work. But Maury had the fat kids on today, which made me totally hungry for a grilled cheese sandwich and, before I even got the cheese goo tongue-rubbed out of my teeth, it was like, Holy crap, I’m late!
When I unlocked my car door, I noticed that the key didn’t stick like it has every day for the last however-many months and the door didn’t squeak when I opened it.
Then there was this wall, like, of warm vanilla air that washed across my face when I leaned in. And the car didn’t make that normal squonking noise when I sat down.
And the door shut easy and the window rolled all the way down without sticking and the engine started on the first try and the gearshift actually slid into reverse without having to push down and yank on it and I could hear the gravel crunching under my tires when I backed up and then when I plugged in my iPod, the song that started playing right away was “Idioteque” and I couldn’t help but think, This is going to be a good day.
I was still planning to go to work then, though, too.
I missed every single pothole on Carpenter—even that super-bumpy part at Court Street—and I even hit the green light at Stimson, which never happens. And then I didn’t see one cop on the whole entire highway, so I could drive eighty all the way to where the road splits to Coolville or Pomeroy. It was like the whole universe was working together to get me to work on time.
When I got to that “Abortion Stops a Beating” billboard, I remember thinking, God, I wish I didn’t have to go to work today, but I didn’t notice it being any different than my normal God, I wish I didn’t have to go to work today feeling.
And somewhere in there I was trying to figure in my head how much I pay for rent, plus the electric bill, plus groceries, plus all my credit cards, plus whatever else, and trying to figure out, if I made eight dollars an hour instead of eleven, if I’d have enough to pay my bills and still get schwasted every now and then.
And then I slowed down as I got to Dixon Road—I had my turn signal on, I remember that—and I looked at my watch and I was thinking, Okay, it says 3:26, but it’s actually forty-three minutes fast, so that means it’s actually 2:54, which means I’ve got eight minutes to get from Dixon Road to Dogwood to Buckeye. I bet I can still make it if I sprint across the parking lot and up the stairs, as long as Security Guard Gary isn’t flirting with the girls at the front desk so he can let me in the door right away and as long as there’s no dumbass at the time clock trying to swipe their card backwards a million times, saying, “Why won’t this stupid thing ever work?”
So I was thinking all that as I came up to the turn and I just . . . kept driving. I don’t even know why.
I just kind of stared at the little green street sign—Dixon Rd—and I drove on past.
Then I drove across the Hocking River right there, and then past that little rest area and then I was in Belpre, then Parkersburg and on the I-77 onramp and, before I even really knew what was going on, I’d driven past Ripley and Charleston and some town with a bunch of strip clubs, and then another town and then I drove through this long tunnel and when I came out the other side, there was this “Virginia Welcomes You” sign.
Weird.
The thing it reminded me of more than anything was in fifth grade when we had to fill out those surveys.
“Don’t put your name on it,” they kept telling us. “These are anonymous. We want to know what you really think.”
When it got to the question, “What do you like least about school?” I wrote, “Bitchy teachers.”
Even though I wrote it in different handwriting, I was still scared they’d know it was me. And when I handed it in, I felt the same way as I did today when I watched myself drive past the turn onto Dixon Road. Kind of giddy and relieved and nervous and scared all at the same time.
Hopefully Mom and Dad won’t be waiting for me whenever I get back home. That would suck.
At least in fifth grade, I could say, “But that’s really what I like least about school!”
Now, all I’d be able to say is, “Uh, Radiohead was playing. And the song wasn’t over. And I was really really high.”
They’d bitch slap me into next week.
* * *
rules and Regulations of Waysides and Rest Areas that I either plan to, hope to, or expect to break:
#3: When posted, parking shall be limited to the two-hour period specified.
#4: No overnight parking will be permitted.
#7: No vehicle shall be parked in such a manner as to occupy more than one marked parking space.
#9: No person shall pick any flowers, foliage or fruit; or cut, break, dig up, or in any way mutilate or injure any tree, shrub, plant, grass turf, railing, seat, fence, structure, or anything within this area or cut, carve, paint, mark or paste on any tree, stone, fence, wall, building, monument or other object therein any bill, advertisement or inscription whatsoever.
#12: No threatening, abusive, boisterous, insulting or indecent language, gesture or behavior shall be used or performed within this area. Nor shall any oration or other public demonstration be made, unless by special authority of the Commissioner.
* * *
Cast
(in order of appearance)
ME: Twenty-two-year-old bundle of telephone psychic awesomeness who’s currently confused about his present job situation, among other things.
THE OTHER ME: The person in my head I talk to when I talk to myself in my head.
SCENE ONE
Driver’s seat of my car, parked in the second-to-last spot at the Rocky Gap Rest Area in Virginia. It’s late night-early morning. An orange street light/sidewalk light/rest area light shines in through my windshield
