On the Road

Rog was still in the car that a moment ago had been full of momentum. His heart no longer seemed to be in his chest, but more in his head. He could hear it, really feel it in his ears. Pulsing. His breathing also seemed a little more difficult as though his windpipe was a paper straw that has been saturated with some gooey liquid.

The seatbelt gripped him tightly, pressing him back against the seat in an odd life-embrace, rather than pitching him into a death kiss with the pavement. There was also a moment of panic when he realized all was dark. He could not see. Oh, my god, he was blind. Had he hit his head on the steering wheel? He had no memory of it. Then carefully, he opened his eyes to the last of the day's pink setting rays. Even during this time of high stress and confusion, he found pleasure in the beautiful colors of the approaching twilight. Perhaps it was just a profound concept that he was still alive,in one piece, not blind, and able to experience yet another sunset.

The sudden blare of a horn put an instant end to this quiet moment of gratefulness. His car was on the wrong side of the road. A car had passed by and sounded its horn. Miraculously, in his turnabout on the road, he had avoided hitting another car or telephone pole. The street, not far from his mother's house, was a quiet enough street. But what had happened? What had darted out in front of him and caused his dive into the edge of car-out-of-control. Had he hit whatever it was?

Another car passed him. Another blast from the horn. With shaky hands, he fumbled his hands along the cool ridge of the steering wheel. Keeping a foot very much on the brake, he steered the car over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. Rog was just too freaked out to drive. Slowly, resembling a person of feeble body, he climbed out of the car and leaned against its outer surface trying desperately to feel normal again. The stress of the incident had shaken him up and he had no idea what to do.

So shaken was he that he did notice the dark figure watching him from the trees. Only about twenty feet away, it blended into the shadows. It barely moved, aware that even breathing would give its location away. But Rog was so perplexed with his predicament, that it would not have mattered it the figure had tapped dance. It would not have been noticed. Yet, it remained still, intent on watching Rog.