The Drive, the spirit and the Sail

Alarm goes off, customary as always at 4:00 a.m. routine is nothing but glory even through his own personal havoc there is a solid respectful off grounds line of symmetric time as profound and grown as his love to dense dark roast.  A series of coffee bean sacks rested idly against the clear white mosaics that made up his kitchen's backsplash of a wall, followed by a grinder and an espresso machine.  Four upside down clean white cups awaited under the cupboards and a series of pill bottles of all chemical balancing sort were aligned in proper A through Z form, followed by any numerical or symbolic order if need be.  They were neither numeric nor symbolic.  He opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of toast along with a jar of peanut butter, closed the fridge and his vision welcomed a phrase stuck on a fluorescent pink post-it note.  A date that matched that present day, and a time that, to be fair, was military style 16:00, there was no way to confuse it with p.m. or a.m.. He had less than 12 hours to fulfill that task. 

This time around it only took a couple of intentional forehead bumps on an already impacted, dented infested, yet functional fridge door. The regular amount was four plus.  New year, new me he whispered as he picked the pill bottles one by one, and with a majestic hand gesture popped the cap and  extracted a single pill from each of a series of infinite bottles, except from the last one.  That one bottle was see through and only had one vague and lonely pill, one could have said that it was also chill.  A screen of dust was formed around the base.  He chugged a vast amount of water, aware of the implications his internal organs would inflict.  Health aware.  He skipped the coffee and got ready for the day.  The clock was ticking.  

At first glance it was just another white car but the half a million miles plus a jacked up chassis on that decade long Toyota had a history to tell.  That model in particular had sold immensely and was very popular.  Statistics said that one in every ten cars around you was it.  Invisible at plain sight. They roam amongst us and at times allow themselves to be perceived, even seen by either personal predilection as if you were to ask a vampire to enter one's house.  It can also happen by a random series of uncontrolled chaotic events that result in an  alignment of planets somewhere in one of the infinite galaxies.  When the latter is conceived a crack on the space continuum and dimensions becomes present.  It all becomes an eternal ONE with the universe, one with it all.  As long as you are inside that car everything seen through its windows is part of the all.  

He sat slowly on the worn out seats and pressed the ON button, the motor made a quiet humming sound at first then it went dead silent.  It was always pleasant to be reminded that at least fifty percent of his job was secured just by that dead-on silence.  He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook from within.  This time around the notebook was brown, and with it a roll twice the size he was used to.  He wondered why at times people paid for what he did because at the end of the day a job was done, and jobs have to get paid.  In the notebook he found the set of coordinates and entered them on his gps and began the drive.  

The brightness coming from outside the garage darkened his view as he slowly rolled out of there on automatic.  Turned the knob of the radio and did some mental math which involved time, approximate place and current traffic.  As he juggled all of those factors into his recurrent formula for job completion an unnerving pinkish tone of a sky unraveled as his pupils expanded to allow more light for focus.  “Hey!” Said a voice coming from the back of his car and looking through the rear mirror he saw a brown set of eyes staring at him, with a half a smirk adorning his mouth.  “What the”… calmed he replied considering he lived alone but there is a level of personal traumatic events that can untie individuals from certain feelings, or maybe it was just the drugs.  “But you are dead,” he added, “I know because, oh well you know why I know…” The confusion was tangible just like everything that could not be touched, it was. Everything seemed to be one huge big ONE.  

“Just like you, I’m confused as well.  One minute I’m enjoying flying free range around the planet and then this happened.  I appear here right where I last was before you know.  The thing.”  Along with his vast amount of imbalances he was also aware that at times he could be unaware.  Instead of heading back, he decided to go along for a drive around the block, then another block, then to the next city.  All in dead silence until he took a glimpse of the minutes had turned to hours that even his hybrid car needed to be refueled. He stopped at the next gas station and self service.  Left the pump going and went inside, grabbed something to eat.  As he went to the register an odd looking guy asked him if he was going to use cash or card and added, “a job is a job ain’t it right you bastard!” When he took a glance at the guy's face he noticed one eye socket was empty and the other had fumes coming out of it.  Signatures are like footprints and his were impregnated on everything he did. The drugs were wearing off and running low along with the time to complete the task.  The urge to know how in the world it had all turned into a symmetric line where everything was laid and present all at once, had finally arrived. With it also the imbalances. He rushed back to the car. 

“What brings you back? And a job is a kill, you know’ right?” The uncracked character cracked and  appeared.  “All I know is that the journey you are about to embark on according to your gps does not have to be fulfilled.” He added, “You are about to realize what it feels to feel uncertainty and this prolonged journey of ours is going to let your body finally rest.” Drops of sweat began to emerge from his forehead, a wave of cold shivers under the scorching sun made a walking iceberg. He had a decision to make, there was just enough time from his home to where he was just as to the destination where the task had to be done.  Him and his pallid face drove on. 

The  pill bottles glare welcomed him and his sweaty, shaky palms along with the pallid face adorned by the ultra violent lips of his. Through the waves of melancholy stampeding, rushing, trampling his every sense, he crutched. A piercing swift pain traveled, waltzed amongst his very nerves that kept him alert but as a joke of pure bad taste dressed him awake and sharp. The veil of the past unraveled as roaring thunder with its added shallowness between clashes, tight in sync with the seconds stick. Hammering glimpses of visual and vivid transatlantic magnitude travels in time, journey  and crimes. The pain inflicted blurred view rushed through the sight of all the containers A through Z and stood fixated on the old dust gathering vessel standing still ready to set sail to a new found dream.