Mike, Mikey, Sweetheart, Honey, Son, Boy, Man, Dad, Whatshisface, Whatwasitagain, Michael! grips the steering wheel and looks ahead. It's unlikely for another vehicle to come by, but it's midnight on a winding mountain road and who knows what animal might leap onto the path? And Michael's eyes are starting to droop and he really regrets not stopping at the last rest station but it's too late now so he turns on the radio. He flips through the mostly-static stations until he finds one that actually has audible music. It's from the nearest tiny-tiny-miniscule town, and the music is country music, which he doesn't mind (though he prefers classical because his daughter plays the violin and ain't it just beautiful and when he sees her huge rip-your-lips smile at recitals he thinks This moment is worth my entire life, beginning to end, from now until forever and if she loves classical music then he'll love it too because he loves her, she's the light of his life, and he's not the perfect father, what with being away so long, but he's trying but for G-O-D's sake he's trying!).
Michael drives another thirty minutes and thirty one miles until the music becomes all staticky and boy does he hate that sound, it's just the worst, ain't it, because it reminds him of all the emptiness. The road, the sky, the night, the day, his life--all emptiness, always emptiness.
Five and five miles and minutes and the radio station's gone totally static. And suddenly, clear as the birdsongs at sunrise on the rare occasions Michael's home, there's a voice.
It's a nice voice: feminine, husky, quiet, accent-less.
The voice says, "Let me tell you a truth."
