You know that feeling you get right before something bad happens? That one filled with premature grief and despair, and then the moment of clarity in which the bad thing happens. The feeling that overwhelms you to the point where it's terrifying and your body goes numb to the world, and only adrenaline works against your rational thinking. Or maybe what you do in those moments is the most rational action possible and anything else is too demanding or not in your character. Maybe it's what you do in this situation that defines who you are. It shows what you do in the most chaotic fractions of time, where your true character comes out in the open to clear that void in which an attack to your values is about to rip the seams of a cherished item you hold deeply in your content. What you do without thinking bares the true actions of one's self. In the darkness, blinded by internal shock, paralyzed by fear, it is what we do without thinking that shows us who we truly are.
"The camera's not going to pick anything up, it's too dark."
With another click of a picture being taken, he sighed and focused on the road.
"I think I know what I'm doing," I said, flipping through the camera roll. A picture of the open road only lit with the van's headlights. Another of the mountain side's rough silhouette against the dull blue of a new morning. "Although I think it's the window's fault that I can't get a clear shot."
He snickered, his eyes flashing to meet mine for a moment, before returning to the dimly lit road, followed by a yawn. He took up his coffee and pressed it against his lips, and glanced my way. "What?" his voice sounded tired. I smiled, shaking my head and returned my gaze to the mountains that towered alongside us. Dawn had broken across the horizon, replacing the midnight black with a soft blue that riveted throughout the sky and touched the tips of the mountains. The stars, already starting to fade away, still created the impression of small holes poked in the blanket of a tender blue. The long fall below gave way to a dark ground, hardly visible to the naked eye.
I hadn't noticed how quiet it had become, and it seemed he hadn't either. I set the camera down in my lap, and looked through the cds on dashboard until I came across a suitable album and flipped until the very last song. I didn't need his approval to know this song was okay to play. But I looked over anyway, and saw a slight smile form on his face, and he caught my staring out of the corner of his eye. He yawned again and rubbed his face with his arm. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"
He didn't take his eyes off the road, "Hm? What, no," he cleared his throat, "No, I promised you I would drive the way back," his glanced at me, "And besides, you have to take the pictures."
I sighed and rolled my eyes, taking up my camera again, "You know"-another snap-"People tend to do this thing when they're tired," I took my gaze off the scenery, "It's called sleep, ever hear of it?"
He looked perplexed, "No, I haven't, tell me more."
The piano that filled the car sputtered for a moment, and I lay back in my seat, "My bad," I laughed, "Forgot that one is scratched."
He chuckled, "That's okay," and then he looked at me, "We can make our own music."
I rolled my eyes, "We're not five."
He straightened his back, and cleared his throat. He picked up where the song left off, on a completely different note, and sang with such confidence I busted out laughing. He looked offended by this outburst and stopped, giving overdramatic insulted looks in between the short glances back on the road. "Bravo," I laughed, "You're the next Adele."
He laughed at that, and then allowed the silence to overcome the little moment of joy that escaped the tiredness of the trip. He was exhausted, that was clear, but he tried to hide it, almost too much to the point where I thought he was going to pass out from using so much energy to conceal it all. I didn't want to bother him anymore than I already had, so I returned to my camera. I kicked my feet up onto the dashboard and unrolled the window. The comforting feeling of being cramped inside a car made taking the pictures all the more better. The fresh air flooded the car, filling it with the bittersweet scent of a rustic outdoor. The elevation had increased, and it was as though we were one with the mountain, towering over the rest of the land, dominating the real life.
