Perfectly Imperfect Lives

Road Rage and Public Restrooms

Sage's POV

          I take the long way home, giving myself time to think. I have visited Rosalie every day this week, and every day we grew closer. We've known each other for close to two years now; we knew our time together was coming to an end. And it did today. But, today is only the beginning...

            A UPS truck blares its obnoxiously loud horn, demanding that I move out of its way. So I move out of its way. I swerve to the left, but not before making sure I have gotten the beer-bellied driver's attention and flicked him off. How's that for moving on?

            I cannot stand bastards like him. The ones that only care about themselves and drive like they are drunk to get what they want. They must think that roads are paved just for them and no one else. Yeah, right. They better learn real fast what road-rage is or sooner or later I'll kill them with mine.

          As the red in my pissed off face dies down to a highlighter pink, and as I calm myself, I allow my thoughts to wander back to Rosalie.

She is the only one that matters, her and Missy, not hungover fat--- ugh! I take another deep breath, resisting the growing temptation to grab my loaded pistol from off the dashboard. I clear my head and just drive. Simply steer the wheel and keep my foot pressed to the gas.

            I let the annoying women watching themselves apply makeup instead of watching the road, honking of horns, and disgusting sight of hairy, shirtless guys behind steering wheels fade away. They diminish slowly, until all they are to me are strangers on a toilet in a public restroom. You can see them if you're sick enough to peek through the crack in the door, and you only hear them when other toilets stop flushing. If I keep my eyes on the road, and keep my mind distracted, then I won't notice any disturbing surroundings.

            I am in my own little peaceful world until my phone rings. I pause and listen to "Stereo Hearts", like I always do before answering my iphone on the last ring. With a sigh, I read the caller id, see Missy's name, and using the tip of my thumb, I accept. I complete the actions almost as if in a coma, too shocked to believe what is happening. Missy has not spoken to me since the day I surprised her at her place the time she was miserably drunk.

            "Blaire isn't dead," Missy excitingly chatters into the phone. "I'm sorry I just didn't know who else to tell."

I nearly crash into the next car as it pulls out in front of me, interrupted by the shrill honking of horns. Still in a trance, I swerve over to the side of the road.

"She's what?" I gasp.

I have never given myself the chance to hope for Blaire, unlike I have always hoped for Rosalie. For me, Damien had already taken that from me the day I met Missy. She has always been like a lost dream, like Rosalie but faded completely away rather than just a lot. I place my spinning head down onto my steering wheel, desperately attempting to grasp at some speck of reality. Nothing seems to be making sense at the moment.

"What do you mean, Missy," I sigh into my phone.

"Sage, Blaire was never killed by Damien. He left her on the side of the road, and somehow by some miracle, she's tracked me down," Missy continues giddily.

I sit in silence, completely unsure of how to respond. I am not even sure if there is a response for something like this. On one hand, I am still reacting to Rosalie and our great accomplishment today, and on the other, Missy throws this up in my face. I know I should be happy, but I just do not feel like there is much room for more.

"Missy, that's great," I finally reply.

There is a long silence on the other end. I can tell without her words that Missy is disappointed by my words, and I am too honestly. We haven't spoken in months, and this is how I answer to her confiding in me just about the biggest news of her adult life? Terrible.

"Sage, I know I did you wrong. I can admit to that now. But I just thought you would be more happy about this. Guess I was wrong."

I hear a long beep as the line goes dead. I've lost her. Once again, I have lost the love of my life. Also again, over Damien and his bullshit. Slamming my head hard against the steering wheel, I put my truck into drive and pull back onto the packed highway.

            I continue driving down the long stretch of road, kicking myself mentally. I beat myself up harder than even the bullies in grade school, wishing I had had the energy to respond differently. I cannot believe I just let her go, and so easily. This was Missy that we were talking about here.

The long stretch of road only grows longer as I continue to grow more and more devastated by my pathetic response. Mentally and physically, I grow increasingly tired.

            My legs begin to grow numb from sitting for so long, and my butt begins to sore--- it is sick of being pressed against my truck's leather seats. I run a hand through my sweaty hair, resting at my eyebrows in jagged layers. I guess it is time to stop for coffee.

I drive up to the crowded entrance at McDonalds and get in line behind the many other cars, people with the same idea. Tapping my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, I wait for the line to move forward. It seems like an entire century goes by before it finally does. One by one, the cars start to slowly lurch forward. My truck lurches forward along with the others. The sweet, inviting smell of mouth-watering fast-food and eye-opening coffee leaves me in a daze--- hypnotized by the urge to swallow it all down.

            While waiting for car after car and listening to order after order, I begin drooling almost as badly as I did walking into Victoria's Secret with Missy. Finally, it's my turn to speak into the microphone. It's my turn to tell the person on the other end what I want, and it's my turn to satisfy my needs.

            "Welcome to McDonalds; order when you're ready," a snobby girl drones, rudely smacking her gum. She reminds me of Bon Qui Qui at King Burger--- except this girl isn't making a joke out of her attitude, which I'm gonna take a wild guess at and assume is just PMS.

            "Give me a Mocha Frappe, hold the whipped cream. And a double-cheeseburger--- no mayo," I respond, mimicking her high pitched, snappy voice.

            "What...Ever. Drive up to the next window, and your total is $5.95."

            I move to the next window, eyes rolled as far into my head as they can possibly climb. I pay for my meal, grab my food and coffee, and drive away.

            I toss the bag of food onto the seat beside me and hurriedly stab my straw through the hole on the frappe cup. As I gulp it down, it tastes like heaven in a coffee-cup. The icy coffee runs through my veins, instantly waking me up. I hesitantly take the last sip, emptying the cup. Now I can go home.

It's time to face Missy...