Sleepless

One

There’s always an odd haze, a sort of fog that hangs in the air. It made the night thick enough you could rip it from the walls—a blanket that hid a starless abyss that could swallow even the brightest light.

This time, I’m driving my car, a realization I made spontaneously, though it didn’t faze me—I adapted and handled the task at hand. This is when I felt I wasn’t alone, a feeling that I had grown use to, yet now caught me of guard. I turned to my right and noticed my brother sitting crookedly in the passenger seat, the soles of his bare feet resting against the dashboard of my black Mitsubishi Nativa. This was something of a surprise to me, but it was something that I accepted just as I had accepted that we wandered down this dark foggy road to a destination I knew only in my heart, but sensed we would never arrive to.

Then I grew aware, or more likely, hyper aware. I could see the car moving down the road from the outside, in a sort of third person perspective, it felt as though I was bound by rope to my car, and the only thing that kept me afloat was the constant movement of the vehicle.  Yet it didn’t shock me, this was nothing new to me, this was as normal as the stars that dripped from the sky and the moon that spun occasionally to reveal the smile it hid from the sun.

“Hurry up, and make sure you don’t mess it up” or, at least that’s what I think he said. I can’t remember his exact words. I remember his lips parting, moving, but it remains a faint haze. Hell, I’m not even sure he looked in my direction—I have both versions of the story in my head now.

 What I do remember clearly was the look in his eyes. I was driving terribly, and that look seemed expectant, he knew I would mess something up, and he remained staring unnervingly and unblinking for what seem like an eternity.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine” the casual response that I always give to seem in control.

I was starting to break into a cold sweat, and I could feel the pulse of my heart in the left side of my skull as the night tunneled towards me faster and faster.

 The speedometer was obscured by the thick darkness of the night, but I knew the danger. The turn was coming, the lighting was poor, and worst of all he still sat with his legs, no seat belt and not even the slightest care at the possibility that he might have to brace himself.

Why did I have to notice this now?!                

 That detail captured my attention and held unto me unrelentingly. I couldn’t avert my sight, but the car went on moving anyways. My vision began to blur, I could hear my ragged breathing and I could swear that my bladder emptying was only a bump or a nudge away. The turn was coming.

“I need to look forward… I need to watch where I’m going!” The fear was so encroached in my voice that the words came out as a gasp instead of actual words.

 “Hey, you ought to look in front of you” He said as he still sat crooked and pointing in the obvious direction, still staring at me.

My head snapped forward as if by command, but I was too late. The turn was here and I could see heavy traffic headed east; the direction of my destination. I attempted to make the turn vainly trying to fix a transgression already committed. I felt the car leaning to its left, signaling the metaphoric end of the road, and that’s when I felt it: the guilt. It was me, he died because of me.