Midnight Drive

Note: Story contains death and car accidents

Cars took my entire family.

Mom died in a car accident.

A drunk truck driver took my two sisters.

My dad lost his life in a head-on collision.

And my aunt, uncle, and cousins perished at the hands of a reckless semi driver.

It’s easy to blame the human behind the wheel. Tell that to my brain and body.

My godmother, who swore off driving since her best friend, my mother, died consoled me at their funerals. Although all of these events happened a few months apart, the quick rate of their deaths made me glad I postponed mom’s funeral. One led to another to another, until now. I decided to hold everyone’s funeral at the same time.

As the only surviving family member, the burden of calling friends and loved ones fell to me. Universe granted me zero control of anything…except this.

As people surrounded the open caskets, my godmother held me close to her and dapped at her tears with a handkerchief. I stayed on the other side of the room while everyone cried and said their goodbyes. Despite the questionable state of everyone’s bodies, my godmother insisted there’d be an open casket ceremony. Since she paid for everything, I saw no reason to interfere, even if she listened to me.

“It’s all right, child.” My godmother sniffed and wiped her tears again. “God is watching over them. They’re in good hands.”

There wasn’t a shred of doubt that my godmother meant well, but considering she knew my family was spiritualists didn’t really matter to her. We believed in heaven, hell, Olympus, underworld, nirvana, universe, and more; we didn’t practice pantheism or omnism. We simply believed what we knew. Death didn’t scare us. The fear that our lives were lived very little terrified us more than a visit from the King of the Underworld or from the Angel of Death himself.

After a while, Casey, my only remaining high school friend, approached me. She reached out to me, but instinctively, I stepped back. “If you need a place to stay, my spare room is always open.”

The offer was fitting, but it wasn’t what I needed. Usually, one would grieve the loss of a family member, in my case, all of them. I had nothing to my name. I lost my job several weeks ago, my parents didn’t have a will, my aunts and uncles left everything to their dogs, who also died in the accident. Returning to “normal life” almost seemed like a joke.

Still, the best I had was my parents’ house, almost paid off. I might lose it soon, but I figured I’d appreciate that it’s still here.

Once the funeral ended and my family were put in the local cemetery, my godmother told me exactly what’s going to happen: “You’re staying at my place from now on. You’re going to college and soon you will be hired at my company. From there, you’ll grow your career or embark on whatever path you so choose.” She continued on, but I didn’t listen.

I had to do something…something else.

In my world, energy and spirits were not unusual topics of the house. Mom was an energy worker and dad was an expert in paranormal activity and spirit communication. It wasn’t unusual to see a shadow standing in the doorway or to feel a heavy presence at the bottom of the basement stairs. Dad taught me to discern between friend and foe and how to protect myself from “unseen” threats. My parents taught me how to recognize the dead and the dying, and how to communicate with them through electricity, lights, energy, and shadows.

Throughout the past month, I’ve felt everyone around me. I’d randomly smell dad’s infamous frankincense and myrrh cologne, a collection of monarch butterflies, mom’s favorite, flew through the yard despite them not living on this side of the woods, and then my aunt’s favorite artist, David Bowie, randomly played on Spotify even though I never searched for a single song of his. They were talking to me, but I was too depressed to know what anyone was saying.

Mom told me many times, “The best way to clear your head and cleanse your body is through a ritual.”

Rituals occur everywhere, every year, all of the time. Between birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and even St. Patrick’s Day, the American people celebrate rituals even if Christians want to call it something different. The rituals in my household were sometimes full moon rituals – if mom remembered to do them - , rites of passage (15/16/18/21), new moon rituals, quarterly property cleanses, and more. Just the thought of them nearly made me cry…

But maybe that’s it…maybe I needed to do a ritual for my family. No matter their religion, it was obvious they wanted me to do something with them and for them. I didn’t know what to do for them other than the funeral. Something made me chuckle, though. When my grandparents died, we didn’t attend their funeral. My parents disliked funerals. Everyone’s sad and crying, understandably, but my family always praised the celebration of life, nature, and the foreboding future promised to us all. So, of course they wouldn’t want a funeral.

When my godmother dropped me off at my parents’ house, she informed me she’d pick me up in the morning and that my clothes and belongings needed to be packed. She drove out of the driveway without another word. I entered the house, grabbed my car keys from the keyholder nailed to the wall by the door, then headed to the garage. I ignored the eerie memories that soared through my mind as I bypassed the kitchen and headed to the garage. I clicked the button and the automatic garage door rose.

Moonlight beamed inside, highlighting the only car remaining, my 2009 Nissan Rogue. It was a present from my mom for my 16^th birthday. I wasn’t the type of kid that intended to drive. I saw it as a rite of passage I wasn’t ready for. I even got upset with her for buying me a car. I didn’t understand why for a long while. So, I left the car here for years, never once driving it. Until today.

Knowing the battery needed a jump, I grabbed a battery charging pack on the nearest rack and jumped the car. After about 15 minutes, the car purred like a kitten. I closed the hood then entered the driver’s seat. Immediately, I felt people in the car. Not a soul was inside, not a living one at least, yet the entire vehicle felt way heavier than it should. I’m only 180 pounds…and I can’t possibly fill the passenger seat, the back seats, and even the trunk. If my aunt’s dogs were here too, I wouldn’t be surprised. They loved long car rides.

My hands shook as I closed the door and rested in the seats. I wiped my tears with my sleeves, wishing that I’d brought…

An opened box of tissues sat on the floor on the passenger’s side. I picked it up and saw a pretty note underneath that read, “In case you get emotional. Love, Mom”.

A laugh popped out of me, and a burst of tears sprung with it. I suppose she thought any kid that got their first car would cry about it. Instead, I got angry.

“I’m sorry, mom.” I told her out loud. I connected my phone to the car then turned the volume up. I listened to Breaking Benjamin earlier today so one of their songs was still there. Until it wasn’t. Suddenly, the song skipped itself and instantly went to David Bowie’s Lazarus. I nearly laughed again. I could practically hear my aunt laughing in amusement. Thankfully, mom left a button to the garage hooked to the driver’s side windshield. I backed out my car, pressed the button, then headed…wherever.

By the time I got to New York

I was living like a king

There I’d used up all my money

I was looking for your ass

This way or no way

You know, I’ll be free

Just like that bluebird

Oh I’ll be free

Ain’t that just like me?

If there’s anyone that felt free, it was certainly my family. My mom ran away from home at 18 to be a hippy until she got pregnant with me. My dad convinced his family he’d take care of my mom and I. Ultimately, she was accepted into the family, a family that appreciated mistakes and accountability. Her brother, my uncle, married my aunt at 16 and they’ve been married ever since. They traveled the world together, met many peoples across different cultures, and carried their wisdom throughout their life. They shared their knowledge with the rest of the family, and soon, ceremonies and rituals became a rite in and of itself. No one would be caught dead not having at least one ceremony in their house, and each occasion was treated with the upmost respect.

Even when I was young, I wouldn’t interrupt the elders setting up their altars, reading from their books, or dancing by the fire. I’d admire them as I watched and listened. I couldn’t wait to have my own family and share these traditions with them.

My dad loved joining paranormal investigators. He’d always be the driver. He adored the power that cars gave you: you can come, you can go, you can pack up, and you can explore. Once, he drove his van for 24 hours across the country just to see if he could do it. And he did.

There was something about vehicles that brought so much life to this family. Yes, it ultimately brought their deaths, but maybe this midnight drive would bring them peace as well.

Lo and behold, another Bowie song played. Changes.

Still don’t know what I was waitin’ for

And my time was runnin’ wild

A million dead end streets and

Every time I thought I’d got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

So I turned myself to face me

But I’ve never caught a glimpse

How the others must see the faker

I’m much too fast to take the test

Streetlamps glared down at me as I drove. I made my way past my mom’s favorite bakery, my dad’s infamous 24-hour diner that he visited at least twice a month at 4 a.m., just because he could; the bookstore that my aunt funded, the shoe store that my uncle inherited from his uncle, the middle school that my cousins attended, and Nissan dealership where my mom got my car, the high school I graduated from.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. The music played on a low hum, just enough for me to hear past my crying. I gripped the steering wheel and made sure to carefully watch the stoplights and make a complete stop at stop signs, just like mom asked me to do.

I balled. I drove and poured my entire head onto my lap.

“I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry dad. I can’t…believe…”

The light turned green. I pressed the gas and pushed forward then immediately stopped. A semi ran his red right and he almost hit my passenger side door.

I froze, my vision immediately cleared. A cop was on his tail a moment later. He too ignored the red light and sped down the street. I took the car to an empty spot on the side street and released the rest of my tears.

There’s no way…no way that just happened!

Should I just stop driving? Should I give up? Why did that just happen?

You took them all away. Cars like you! People like you! Gone forever are the days when the house is filled with celebration, wonder, magic, and love. It’s all because of you!

Beyond the door

There’s peace, I’m sure

And I know there’ll be no more

Tears in heaven

Eric Clapton’s Tears In Heaven played. It’s a song I never heard. I’m glad it played. My body shook and a chill sat inside of the vehicle. There was the chill and yet a warmth followed right behind it. I felt arms around me, wrapping me in a loving embrace. I heard whimpers. Felt sadness. As if they were crying, too.

I’m not sure how long I was parked, but after I collected myself, I put the car in drive and pushed on.

At this point, there were too many faces and names to place blame. It didn’t matter, I supposed. I just wanted my family back. I wanted the barbeques, the rituals, and customized speeches, the adornments, and the occasional family trips that enlightened our bodies and spirits. Yes, I could have these events with myself, but anyone with a shred of empathy and emotional comprehension knows that it’s not the same. It will never be the same.

I arrived back at the house with Evanescence’s My immortal concluding the drive.

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand for all of these years

But you still have all of me

“Goodbye, everyone. Rest easy. I’ll be all right.” For the first time that night, I felt the car ease up. In the driver’s seat of my life, there was only me. I pulled the car into the garage, thanked it for a pleasant trip, exited the car, then closed the door.

As the door closed, at the corner of my eye, the ghosts of my family waved at me. They were smiling. Some were crying. The garage door slid down and down until it finally touched the ground.