Fred was Driving

Fred was driving. He didn’t have a sense of where he was headed, but he was determined to get somewhere. It had been a few days since he started, and the roads were a comfort at this point. His car was old but it wasn’t in bad shape. He had been listening to the radio. He had played the albums he kept in the car. He got sick of hearing the same songs after a while. It was getting late in the night... early in the morning? It was after midnight, that’s for sure.

The silence surrounding him was cushioned by the engine’s purr. Fred had driven a few cars into the ground at this point in his life. This baby, this sugar, this girl… he hoped she lasted on him. She was a good car. Got him where he needed to go without any fuss or muss. Not that he needed to go anywhere anymore. So he was driving. It was quiet. It was dark. He was wide awake. His gas tank was getting low and there was a station a few miles down the way. He didn’t really feel like stopping, but he would do his due diligence.

It wasn’t the middle of nowhere but it felt like it that night. Woods all around, a lonely, two-lane highway and the stars in the sky. It wasn’t bad, but Fred could remember better times. When he pulled into the gas station, it was close to 3:00am. Thank Christ for graveyard shifts and awful, old coffee. $20 worth of gas, a respectful, silent exchange of tired glances with the cashier as Fred tried to make the coffee taste like something other than burnt dirt, and a cavalcade of stray cats around the gas station were all parts of Fred’s reality. He counted seven cats before he pulled out and returned to the road. Even checked under his car before getting back in, just in case. He heard more cats than he saw.

He gave 3 weeks notice before leaving, but they still gave him a hard time. Whatever, it was over. That was the past. The present was uncertain. The future was… not on his mind. He had time. He had money. He had to drive for a little bit. That’s just what he felt. 

He had kept his apartment sparsely decorated and he was always throwing out what he didn’t need or use. Fred used to hoard everything he could. Just collecting anything that caught his eye. Building a facade of identity around himself. Books, films, albums, trinkets and clothes that defined who he saw himself as, but it was all useless junk. Lately, he told people he preferred a minimalist vibe at home. He really just didn’t want all that shit anymore. He really just wanted to be able to pick up and leave at a second’s notice. So he did.

Sure, he took a few days to put things in storage and told a few people he would be gone for a bit, but it wasn’t anything big. He wasn’t “moving.” He wasn’t making any drastic changes. Atleast, not yet. He didn’t really have a reason to change things. He needed to quit, that was for sure, but there was no animosity. He was just done with that job. That chapter.

Fred has a pretty modern mentality about work. About life, really. He just keeps moving through it, trying to do what interests him until it doesn’t anymore. Spending as little money as possible from his own wallet. Let the company feed him. Let the company teach him. Let the company keep him alive. Let the job fulfill him. When the feeling dissipates, then maybe it’s time to find a different company. A different line of work. A different lifestyle. Just a change.

There were a few destinations floating around in his sea of memories, but they weren’t his alone. He was looking back at the life he used to have. The different lives he lived. Acts in a play. A collection of short stories. Moments in time. All the loves he shared and the places they went and how happy they had been. Fred developed a distaste for travel as years went by. Something about his generation being obsessed with seeing the world made him less inclined to do it. He’d been places. Famous and infamous places. He’d seen things. Unbelievable and mundane things. Those memories were all tied to the company, though. Most of those memories were tainted at this point. Those old feelings of affection soured with age. Thinking about “seeing the world” leaves a bitter taste in Fred’s mouth. He felt insincere when he traveled. He was supposed to be in awe of the differences and enlightened by the similarities between home and away. He was supposed to explore and take it all in and experience the culture. He didn’t really care about any of that. He just wanted to be somewhere new with someone who could mean the world to him for a time. Permanence does not exist. Fred just wanted to enjoy moments as they happened. Simple as that.

So why drive?

He needed the time to think, he thought. He needed to come up with a plan. Something. A direction to go in. He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young anymore. No one gave him the benefit of the doubt these days. He was an adult. No sympathy. Not that he wanted any, it was just an interesting juxtaposition. Adults have to already know things. Questions are taboo. Children got it easy. Ignorance really is bliss.

 He’d been fighting his debt for years, but, now that it was gone and his finances were a cushion instead of a noose, he was kind of lost. He’d been working against his own actions for so long. He dug his own grave, but he had clawed his way out. The debt wasn’t behind his back in the mirror, looming over his head or whispering in his ear anymore. He felt less anxious and more free, but, goddamn, he didn’t know what the fuck to do with the feeling.

The sun was far from up, but a subtle glow was building on the horizon. Every few minutes, the world took on a new hue. The night had been pitch black apart from a few passing flashes of headlights. Fred’s eyes registered every change in light as the world took form around him. He’d have to stop and stretch soon. Maybe he’d grab an hour or so of sleep. 

He saw life out the corner of his eye. A stork on the side of the road, lifting off from an overloaded drainage ditch. He saw death near the center of the road. Tried not to look. Tried not to think about what it had been. He kept driving. There’s no poetry in modern technology. He picked an album on his phone and connected to the car’s bluetooth... whatever. Harvest by Neil Young. It was getting bright and the old songs drifted around Fred’s mystified mind.

A few years back he had a handful of panic attacks on his way home. He was moving from another state and his car was overloaded. He could barely fucking see. The entire drive was an anxious mess. 14 hours straight with limited visibility, and most of it at night. He got cut off at one point and sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders if he actually died then and everything since then has been a new, different, alternate life. Things changed after that trip. He had been anxious before, but something on that drive brought it out more.

On this road, in this car, on this drive, Fred felt alright. There was a girl a while back. She always had to have a purpose, a destination, an intention, a goal… just something at all times. It was exciting. It was exhausting. It broke Fred in every way eventually, trying to keep up with her. For years Fred’s anxiety used her voice to push him. To poke and prod and tell him that he wasn’t doing enough, he wasn’t being enough, he wasn’t fucking good enough. She was gone and moved on, but Fred’s mind turned on him still. He couldn’t remember what he wanted before her, and he didn’t know what he wanted without her. His reclamation of his Self was a slow process. He’d made mistakes and had missteps along the way, trying to recall what he wanted before depression and anxiety left him wanting nothing but a fucking moments peace. The drive was helping, though. It felt familiar. He felt almost at home on the road.

Exit signs and billboards came in and out of focus. His stomach was attempting to get his attention, and Fred had every intention of a good breakfast at some point, but not just yet. It was time to pull over and walk, though. It was at a standard interstate rest stop. Not too filthy. Not clean. Snacks and sodas and the fake coffee machine. A few maps and coupon books. He used the restroom, washed his hands, and stepped into the morning sun. It was bright. It was warm. He’d been to this rest stop before. He’d been here alone, with family, with friends… familiarity. It was almost cozy. He stretched a bit and cracked his back. Wandering the expansive grounds, he wondered about everything but the drive. He’d been going for so long, sorting through his thoughts with barely a word to a single person for days and days. It was messy. He’d gotten a little confused at this point, to be honest, but it felt good. He just needed to keep reminding himself that he was doing it because he wanted to and he had the complete freedom at this moment in his life to do whatever he wanted.

He slept for about a half an hour and awoke with a jolt. He couldn’t tell if he had been dreaming or if someone had blared their horn or something else, but it wasn’t a comfortable way to wake. When he got his wits about him, Fred decided that the jolt was a good burst of energy and started the car. He rubbed his eyes, checked his mirrors, and pulled out. Back on the road. 

Civilization seemed to grow with the light of the day. More exit ramps. More gas stations and fast food chains. Fred wasn’t pretentious anymore, but, if he was stopping for breakfast, he wanted a good meal. He let the miles pass and lamented at the empty coffee cup. Harder and further and for longer and longer, he wanted to get as much time and as many miles as he could before hunting for something to eat. No real reason. He was starting to run on instinct, starting to do for the hell of it again. It felt good.

He picked a ramp near a quaint, small town. He’d driven through before. Some old road trip. Some family vacation. Time in cars with people he loved. Fred found a diner. Coffee. Eggs. Bacon. Coffee. Toast. Coffee. Fruit. Coffee. Back to the road, refueled and unperturbed. Decent diner service. Decent diner food. Chalky coffee that was bereft of flavor, so he added cream and sugar. He was starting to miss his coffee back home. That was the good shit. Let’s not kid ourselves, though. Caffeine is the heart of the matter. Taste doesn’t make a difference.

On and on he went. Full speed ahead. Lost in thought. Letting what will be take the lead. Eventually, he’d stop and stay for awhile. Somewhere. Until then, the road is his home.