Intersection of Right and Wrong

*Adult language contained in this story*

Life is full of choices. You can look at them like intersections. If you make certain choices, you will be on a proverbial path. If you take a different choice, an unconventional one, turning left instead of right at that intersection in your life, you are now off the beaten path. Marching to the beat of your own drum. That’s never been me, though. I’ve always been the one who took the “right” path. Or so I was told. So I thought.

So here I am not only at a literal intersection, I’m at a proverbial one as well.

I’m listening to Hozier sing “Dinner and Diatribes” as I sit behind the wheel. No one is behind me right now. The light has changed, but I don’t move. I grip the hand sewn leather steering wheel. My wedding ring is cutting into the flesh of my hand. Even though I’m not technically married any longer. I could say fuck it all and go straight. Not going left or right at all. But going straight will take me into a neighborhood. It’s either left or right. I look at the light glowing red swaying in the breeze.

I’ve never felt so tired in my entire life. Not just physically. But emotionally. Mentally. I can’t remember the last time I was happy.

I’m running late for an engagement party. It’s not anyone I’m particularly close to. A coworker who I only see in passing once in a while. I don’t know why I RSVP’d. It wasn’t like I even really cared that she was getting married. Divorce makes you cynical for sure.

It’s not like I cared about my soulless job either. Corporate litigation. Helping rich people stay rich or get richer. It made me richer, too, though.

I’ve sacrificed everything for this job. I’m really good at it. Actually, I am listed as one of the top in the country.

But at the cost of getting really good at it, I sacrificed my own happiness. I lost my wife. My house. I no longer have a relationship with my family. I didn’t even go to my own mother’s funeral because I was due in court on a big case that same day. So my family wrote me off as greedy and heartless. At least I won my case.

So I sit at the intersection. I can go right and go home, change and go to the party, or I can go left and go to the airport. If I go to the airport I can catch a flight anywhere.

My head hurts. I pull the claw clip out of my hair as images of Milton at the end of Office Space sitting on the beach sipping a cocktail while his office building burns to the ground flood through my head. If I go left, I will be burning every bridge that exists in my world.

I have a choice to make. What’s right and wrong. All this time, I’ve made what I now feel like is the wrong choice. And it’s hitting me like a brick at this moment as I sit at the light. At a literal intersection I’m stuck. Frozen. As I contemplate my proverbial intersections and the directions I chose and the consequences of these “turns.”

My wife left. She took her equity from our over priced home and half of our investments, and bought a place in Nice, France. We went there on our honeymoon. She loved it. So did I. It was some of the best days of not just her life, but my own. And I cut it short because of a crisis with a client. And when the divorce came, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t fight for her. I didn’t have the time or energy because I chose my career. I wired the money into her account. I would go on to make more. Whatever.

So many seventeen hour days and what do I have to show for it? An empty have never really spent any time in. It really is beautiful though. And you should see the view! I don’t get to enjoy it. But I heard it’s spectacular.

So many seventeen hour days and what do I have to show for it? A failed marriage. And partnership at my firm. A firm that has half a dozen junior associates who would give anything to be sitting in my position right now. Little do they know the cost of this turn at the intersection of life choices.

So many seventeen hour days and what do I have to show for it? A fat bank account. A fatter investment account. A gigantic retirement account.

So many seventeen hour days and what do I have to show for it? I don’t have time to have those memorable moments that make up a life. Isn’t that what retirement is for and my so hefty retirement account? Retirement is to cash in on and enjoy what you built while you were young. So I’ve been told.

It’s not worth it. It wasn’t worth it. Was it?

The light has changed four times now. I still haven’t moved.

The light is red again. Another car has pulled up behind me. I need to make a choice.

I can go right and go home and change or go left and go to the airport. I can fix things. Retirement is not a guarantee. I can cash out. I can quit. -

The car behind me honks their horn. The light changed.

I roll the window down and wave them around me.

He peels around me, flipping me off as he goes. Fuck you, too. I’m in crisis. Thank’s for the compassion. When has the world become so cruel? When did everyone lose their empathy?

The song has changed. “Everything is Everything” by Lauren Hill is now playing.

What was I thinking? Where was I?

Oh… I can quit. I can cash out my ample retirement savings and go live my life with my wife. Well, my ex wife. If she will even take me back.

There’s no certainty that she would even take me back. If I were her, I wouldn’t take me back. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My eyeliner is a mess. I should turn right and go home and fix it and change and go to the party. Turning left would be nothing but uncertainty.

I don’t do well with uncertainty. I like structure. I thrive on it. That’s why I chose corporate law over criminal.

Go right. Go home. I’m telling myself to go right. But I can’t move. I don’t want to.

So go left. Go to the airport. Go to your wife (ex wife. Ex. She left). But I can’t move. I don’t want to. Left scares me.

The song changes to Avicii’s “Feeling Good.” The crooning lyrics are talking about a new dawn, a new life, and feeling good.

I’m picturing walking hand in hand with my wife down the streets of Nice and day trips to St. Paul de Vence to peruse galleries. Kissing her at sunsets overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s all uncertain.

I take an inhale and I put my foot on the gas and I go. Ignoring the red light. Retirement is not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed. Certainty is a lie. I’m going left. I’m choosing her. I’m choosing my life. I will make the memories I’ve skipped out on.

And then it’s the crunch of metal, and shattering of glass. And then there’s nothing.