Inferno Luck

I’m on the road, finally, and far enough away that I should be able to relax. Still, it’s hours until I get back home, and I’m just hoping the Taurus doesn’t let me down. That burning smell is back, so it needs oil already, but I am shaking too hard right now. I go ahead and pull over into a rest area. At least I’m not tired, but my stomach feels sick with adrenaline.

The sun was not yet up to flush away the darkness when I left the motel this morning. I made excuses to Charlie that I needed to get back home to watch my roommate’s pets while she’s away. He just laughed. How could he laugh, “after?” A realization that had begun to dawn upon me grew stronger.

He flashed a carefree, boyish smile and waved at me as I pulled away from the parking lot on my way back home. Me: rumpled and hollow-eyed, vaguely shocked-looking. Him: Dazzling, peak physique, dimples. His smile never extends to his eyes.

—

Our relationship began when I arrived at my best friend’s house one December evening half a decade ago. She and I were heading out for the night, but when I entered the house, her parents had company: Charlie. Our chemistry was undeniable as we locked eyes during introductions: we were lead actors on a set, the others around us merely pretending to talk as they soundlessly moved their lips.

He called the next day; I had been fielding calls from colleges, so when he introduced himself as “Charlie, [words] University,” it took us far too many additional words to figure out who was who and why and what. Finally, we had a date for the next weekend he was in town -- and all of the ones after that.

My family soon announced that they were moving out-of-state just before I was to graduate, so while Charlie and my boss both began dating me at roughly the same time, I was seeking the most stability for my immediate situation. I had already noticed cracks in Charlie’s stability, and so – starting that spring – I stayed with my boss, and Charlie returned to his university town to stay for good.

Four years later, I’d divorced my boss… and the ex- who came after him, too. Charlie had finished with his degree, so the timing was good. It started long-distance, though I don’t know how he knew where to find me. That’s just Charlie. 

He drove for several hours to come to my office Christmas party; we cavorted and drank too much. In the photos from that visit, it’s clear that I was willfully playing with fire: I see the daring gleam in my eye and realize I do not know that person at all.

—

The sun is up now, just barely, and my car has cooled enough that I retrieve the oil can and pop the hood. My shaking has subsided a little, and if I don’t think too deeply about things, I can keep it away somewhat. It’s just that the “not thinking” part is difficult to master. I need to stop shaking before I pour the oil, though, so I am left to wait it out.

—

Why did I end up repaying his visit? Bravado. Believing my own PR. My friends call me fearless, but that is only because I am too stupid to be afraid of things. Despite me admitting to them that he nearly killed his ex-wife in a car crash, and despite their best efforts to dissuade me, months later I found myself driving several hours to see him this weekend, “to reconnect.” Just to see if I could, I guess, and what that might bring in terms of excitement to my life. Stupid.

We spent the latter part of the evening of my arrival in a city near his home, wasting time at a Waffle House. He let me drive his sports car on the way back to his place, even though it was close to midnight and I didn’t know my way around. It’s not too far, he said. We’re nearly home-free.

Only, home was no longer there: we arrived to a blazing bonfire of timber and tin, surrounded by devotees in yellow ceremonial garb casting wet baptisms at the demon. The house was gone. His dog and cat, as well. I was stunned silent, and he appeared absolutely devastated. Only now, with nothing left for him here, could he take a hiatus in his career and go to law school: the insurance would help.

At least something good came of it, graciously conceded the victim.

—

I realize that dinner at the Waffle House last night was the last time I ate. The shaking won’t stop, so maybe it’s just blood sugar. I take a nutrition bar out of the glovebox, and it is melted to the wrapper: a grim reminder that my car was parked too close to the fire while we were away, and I’m lucky that it didn’t become a casualty altogether.

I eat the broken pieces and lick the melted coating off the wrapper, anyway.

—

With the paperwork done and signed, we were free to go. There was nothing left at all except our two cars, so we took those and headed for a motel, which seemed so far down the highway that we might never get there. My nerves were as taut as a spider’s web stretched to its limit, despite the lateness of the hour and the adrenaline crash.

There was nothing to do but leave, the next day. It was by then that I was feeling the magnitude of my ensnarement. I couldn’t get away soon enough, but playing it cool and remorseless -- to avoid his suspicion of a conscience -- was the harder challenge.

So, oil topped off, I’m finally back on the highway and praying that I'll be okay long enough to get home… and not for the first time this weekend. The sun is finally up, and it chases me there.