ISOLATION

5.

Each day creates distance between the past and myself. Early this morning, David and I went to the hospital. I'm obviously malnourished but the doctor told me there's nothing more severe than a few ailments. That's when I decided to force myself to believe, I'm going to be okay. These strange occurrences are nothing more than just that. There are no conspiracies. The woman is not some paranormal entity seeking to haunt me. The nightmare was just a nightmare. The lady from the woods was just some weird, deformed individual I happened to run into at a time of weakness. These dark thoughts are nothing more than a chemical imbalance that can be treated. I'm going to be okay. I'm fine. Well, I'm trying to be.

Why must all positive thoughts feel forced? The negative comes and goes effortlessly. It's difficult being happy. It's exhausting trying to appear content when I can easily slip away. I can surrender to this darkness and despair. With my head propped up on my hand and my elbow resting against the car door. I can comfortably sit back in my leather seat and I can watch as my entire world moves on without me. Now that my favorite place to escape has been tainted, I need to look elsewhere. I look at David. He's sitting beside me in the driver seat. His arms hanging loose as his hands slide down the circumference of the steering wheel. The glare over his eyes reflects his deepest thoughts. Cosmetic tension keeps his eyebrows inclined. He lets out an exaggerated sigh: my final observation of him in this moment and it tells me everything. He's upset. "What?" I ask him. "This traffic-" David tries to ease his strain, but it's elastic and I only pull it.

We have been stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for ten minutes now and there are no signs of it getting any better. I'm assuming there was an accident up ahead. But that is not what David is agitated about. "No, you're upset about something else, c'mon-" I try to tone out any hostility with playfulness, but my frustration is audible. "Just say it." I add. And so he does. "-You obviously don't want the help, you were so rude to him for no reason, why wouldn't you just tell him about your nightmares or the fact that you were passed out in the mud for six-or so fucking hours, you really expect to get better by acting this way? I am not understanding you right now Summer, I even called out of work to bring you here-"

"Well sorry I've become sucha liability to you. You didn't have to do all this for me-" For some reason, I cannot stop myself from giving an attitude. It contributes to the long list of negative traits I unfortunately poses. "Actually yes I did because you can't do anything for yourself anymore-"

Irrational arguments and petty insults go on full speed ahead while our car has been stopped for twenty minutes. "I'm trying to help you, because, I miss you, I miss us, but you're not putting in any effort-"

"Maybe because I was just knocked out in the woods for six- or- so fucking hours like you said- " I sigh.

"Again I don't understand you. You're trying to use that to gain pity from me? But then when I actually DO something to help you-"

"David this happened yesterday! I haven't slept properly in awhile- and I didn't sleep at all last night- I'm tired."

"So, what then? What do you want to do?" His glare goes back and forth from me to the road.

I can feel a familiar knot developing in my stomach. My words only twist it, causing physical pain. "I just want to sleep." Using safe words prolongs my suffering, and infuriates David. I want to slip away, but I refuse to give in. I have to swallow this knot. Loud sirens echo from a distance. In a matter of seconds, an entire team of emergency response vehicles zoom passed us. The ear-piercing noise set our anger to unbearable heights. We both erupt. As our car inches forwards, our fight accelerates. we blow up on each other. "I have a job- responsibilities- I don't have time to be there for you and force you out of bed and force you to eat and do all these easy everyday things- I don't have time to be driving out to the country to make you see a doctor which ended up being a waste because you're too tired?! The world isn't going to put itself on hold for you; you need to snap out of it-" David is right. He pauses and even lowers his voice a little bit. "Babe...I'm sorry okay, you really are worth the effort to me and I love you to death, but it's frustrating, it's frustrating when I put in the effort to help you and you blow it off-." David's burst of anger gradually resolves, but I am still stuck in a state of emotional constipation because I don't know how to express myself right now. He continues. "Summer, you are not a liability, I'm sorry for going off on you, I just want to help you okay, I want to, but I need you to want to help yourself too."

I look far out in the distance hoping to find some clarity, but instead I shut down. "I don't deserve it." I don't deserve him. With as much brute strength as every dam, brick wall, and blockade combined: I suppress it all. Whilst looking out of the window and up at the sky above, my tired eyes settle. I watch the peaks of the pine trees speckle the sky's clarity. Dragonflies dance around with their wings luminous under the sun. Extending beyond the road: a natural landscape consisting of overgrown weeds and patches of bright orange dirt. What a waste of a beautiful day. "Summer." David calls out to me. With my voice lull, I beg him to just shut up.

"No, Summer-" He repeats. A large flock of birds fly overhead. They kill off the dragonflies one by one. "Summer!"

"Could you-! I don't want to discuss this anymore-"

"Look!" David gasps. His body twists to the side as he peers out of his window. To our left, is a scene so gruesome and horrifying. Between the abundance of fire trucks, ambulances, and police vehicles: dwells utter chaos. Collapsed sideways in a ditch across the intersection is a large tractor truck. The hood is completely flattened and the cargo back has been detached. Still in the middle of the street is another car: also demolished. The amount of destruction almost makes it impossible to determine what kind of car it was, but it looks like it could've been a jeep. The top portion of the car is completely gone.

A sleet layer of shattered glass covers the entire scene. Blood is splattered inside the indistinguishable car. The more I look, the more I see that blood is everywhere. Evidence that this was a violent car accident. My eyes follow the trails of glittery red as it leads to another crashed vehicle. A large object must have hit it from the outside because the windshield has been imploded. Blood, thick like red tar, oozes from the cracks in the glass. My eyes widen, as I grow more intrigued with the horror movie scene. I see the other half of the jeep lying in the medium. Jutting out from the pile of debris, is a human arm. A stiff blue and black hand crippled as it points towards the sky.

It is a hauntingly beautiful sight. Amongst all the destruction: first responders scurry to do their jobs, and victims mourn the ones killed. One elderly man in particular had three police officers trying to calm him down as he lets out a blood curdling cries. David and I are speechless. Due to shock, we are unable to vitalize the seriousness of the accident beside us. We continue to drive by slowly, until something changed everything. Not something, but someone. It's her. In the distance, I see a large yet thin woman talking to a police officer. The way her face immediately instills dread, guarantees that it's her. "oh-my-god- she's there. . ." I whisper to myself.