Traffic Misery

“Well, you know what? FUCK YOU!”

Terrence quickly slams his phone down and punches the steering while like it’s the newest version of a punching bag.

“Asshole! Fucking asshole! Fucking shit!” He keeps on muttering as beeps and honks fly around him like flies.

It’s Black Friday, and everything is supposed to be pleasant. Terrence knows that and everybody knows that but for somebody like Terrence, pleasant is just never the word for any of his days.

How could she break up with me? Over the damn phone?

The questions linger around his mind nonstop. As he hits his forehead on the steering wheel repeatedly and honks at the car in front of him, all his anger wells up inside him as the questions continuously stay.

How could she break up with me? Over the damn fucking phone?!!!!

Because how could she? Jen was her girlfriend for three years. As a matter of fact, they’re engaged and is about to be married next year. In Hawaii, remember? Remember, Jen? Remember?

Well, Terrence suppose Jen doesn’t remember because she just broke up with him over the damn freaking fucking phone! And even if Jen remembers, she refuses to acknowledge it because why?

Because she doesn’t love me anymore? Because she’s got some other dude to bang, some other dude to marry?!

Terrence feels like punching himself for it. It’s bad enough that he got fired at his job today, and now he has to deal with this other bullshit as well.

He looks over wearily at the boxes sitting on his backseat, waiting for him to open them and unpack. They’re stuff from his office that he probably won’t be needing anymore because nobody needs anything in this frequently sought after job called “unemployment”. Basically, the only thing you do in that job is be a couch potato, cry and have a mid-life existential crisis. Pretty easy, given that Terrence is a natural at it. Matter of fact, it’s all the skills he had ever since he was born. Well, ever since his parents divorced when he was eight anyway, but that’s too much information.

Terrence sighs as he closes his eyes and lays his head back on his seat, trying to calm himself down. He felt like drinking, but he knew he couldn’t get anywhere to buy something to drink. Plus, he’s scared. He fears he would succumb to his life of being a drunkard again after downing one drink.

But really? Can’t today be just like . . . an exception? I just lost my fucking job. I just lost my fucking girlfriend. And now it seems like doom is the only thing ahead of me. And it’s Black Friday. Can’t I have at least, one drink?

Terrence thought about it. Carefully. Analytically. He’s been off the medications for quite some time now and he’s been off alcohol for more or less 5 years. He did it, and he made it this far. Is he seriously going to mess that all up because of a job? Because of a worthless piece of garbage called “girlfriend”? Because apparently, he’s got nothing else to do in life right now but go home and sleep?

But I want it. Please.

Terrence’s therapist tells him to always mutter a mantra whenever the urge to drink comes. It’s “I am strong, I made it this far, and I’m going to make it even further”. Ten times, twenty times, a hundred times. Repeat it until the urge goes away. Clench your fist. Grit your teeth. Bite your tongue. Shiver. Until it goes away. Until it all goes away.

But it won’t go away. Not today. Terrence could feel it, and the mantra doesn’t work.

He wants a drink. He needs a drink. Perhaps, this is just what happens to you when you hit the lowest point of your life in a very convenient time of the year. You succumb back to the life you have always lived. You go back to the old you, because the old you felt more real. It felt more authentic and honestly, even closer to you than who you are now.

I am inclined with alcohol. Perhaps, I couldn’t make it further. Perhaps, the mantra was a lie. I could only make it this far and this is my limit.

Terrence looks around for a nearby liquor shop. It’s Black Friday so surely, some shop around the corner is open. The traffic jam is tight, so there’s a possibility of jumping out of his car and buying liquor without simultaneously being a nuance to anyone.

If only there’s a liquor shop close by . . . Oh, wait. There it is.

It’s a small shop called Quantino’s. You could see the bottles of wine and beer being displayed from the outside, and even just the sight of it makes Terrence go wild with overwhelming emotions. He haven’t been close to a liquor shop in five years as he doesn’t trust himself too much even with therapy and medications. Now that he’s finally coming inside to one again makes him feel a bit hyped. And honestly, a little weird. Okay, a lot weird.

He unlocks his door and prepares to jump out. But just as he was about to go out, he catches a glimpse of what looks like a homeless man stumbling his way out of the shop with a half-empty bottle of beer in one hand. He looks ragged, and his hair is a mess. So is his face, and his clothes.

Terrence stops in his tracks. He watches as this man—which seemed old—walk like a tornado on the sidewalk, trying to make sense of everything. It struck him harder than he expected, and he felt a pang of recognition in his chest. Pain too, but that’s probably brought by recognition. And realization.

Because this is what he looked like before, didn’t he? This man is just Terrence McIntosh from five years ago, with no job to occupy himself with, no money to spend and no life to fully live. There was no purpose, and life felt like floating around and letting the world pass by in front of your very eyes.

It was a sad and lonely scene. The man, now in an argument with some dude he bumped with, looked like melancholy and doom personified. Most of the times, melancholy can be overridden by anger. The dude he’s currently in an argument with just spat on him after pushing him off the curb. Terrence heard him muttering a “YOU FUCKING LOWLIFE!” to him as well before walking away. Of course, the drunk dude can’t do anything because, well, he’s drunk. He couldn’t even bring himself to stand up.

Thankfully, a woman in a business suit helps him. The woman was beautiful, just like Terrence’s girlfriend, he noted. Well, ex now but whatever. That woman’s hand was like a touch of hope that brings light to the sad and lonely scene. It’s happiness removing all melancholy.

It was, without a doubt, Terrence’s  girlfriend, helping him up five years ago when life pushed him off a curb, spat on him and called him a fucking lowlife while he was heavily succumbing to alcohol. It was her voice, saying he can do it and her smile as she walks with him hand in hand to the therapist’s office. Her kiss as she watch him grow into a better person and her promises as she shared with Terrence a ring Terrence thought they’d keep forever.

Well now, that ring is a broken. Now, that ring is gone.

Terrence felt his chest tightening as the thought of being lonely again comes into his mind. This time, there is no string of hope. This time, there is no happiness to melancholy but just pure, raw melancholy.

He notices the car sitting next to him, tightly packed between a truck and a BMW. The car definitely looks a lot less than the BMW, what with its scratches all over the place and paint peeling off everywhere. Terrence is pretty sure the side mirror is shattered as well, but he sees it. The man and the woman inside, probably both just around his age but are beaming happily to each other while talking and kissing.

They . . . look happy.

And envy is a strong feeling so Terrence quickly looks away.

Why are people happy?

He couldn’t understand it. The world is a bad place, ever since. Even when he wasn’t born, Terrence was for sure that the world is a bad place. It’s a . . . it’s a shithole. He doesn’t understand it. The happiness and optimism of people confuses him. Is it just him that feels the doom? Is it just him that feels the darkness? Is it just him who is this lonely, this sad and this sorrowful?

I wouldn’t be happy with a car like that, that’s for sure.

Look at that car. Terrence can tell the guy is having financial instability and probably other life problems just by looking at his car. And the way he dresses. So plain and so boring and so . . . old. The woman too, which is probably why they’re a match. They’re both plain and boring and old and too damn optimistic for their own good. They’re probably struggling with money as a couple.

But back then, Terrence knew he was struggling with money too. Heck, he was struggling with money even now and he was never that happy about it. He wants to be like the guy driving the BMW. Stable, free and merry—

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” A girl coming out from the BMW’s passenger side suddenly says as she jumps out of the car and slams the door shut. Terrence watch her walk away.

“Yeah, you go, you fucking bitch! Don’t ever show your face to me again!” The driver of the BMW yells back as he peeks out of his door, grabbing everybody’s attention. Then, he honks. “Can you move this fucking traffic on so I could hit that whore with my car?!”

And he continues honking.

So . . . maybe not happy.

But why? Terrence frowns as he hears the BMW’s honking continuously. He has a BMW, he’s probably well-off, why is he so worked up about a girl? It’s just . . . a girl. With a lot of money and a nice car, you could always get girls . . . couldn’t you?

Well, apparently, not. From what Terrence is seeing anyway. It seems to him that the couple in the severely wrecked car is even happier than the one driving the BMW. The world’s irony. He could never understand it.

But he was that happy with Jen, wasn’t he? Even when he still didn’t have a job before and he was still recovering from alcohol, he was that happy with Jen. Because Jen accepted him for who he was, and Jen wasn’t after the fortune. Or the money. Terrence barely had anything when they started dating. Jen was just . . . she was just there for the love, Terrence guesses. She was just there for the company because like Terrence, Jen was lonely too.

But how could love be enough for her? How could it be just . . . love?

Terrence feels like screaming with confusion. His thoughts are eating him alive and really, this isn’t what his usual thoughts are. It’s too deep and too . . . Where did this even come from? Why is he suddenly thinking all of this like some sort of philosopher? He’s no philosopher. But apparently, this shit traffic jam is turning him into one.

He honks his car horn hard.

“MOVE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!”

Instead of an angry answer though, he was met with a gentle, little voice.

“Sssh! Bad word!”

He quickly turns to look at the car to his left. It’s a black pick-up, with a kid poking his head out the passenger seat. The kid looked like your regular kid, really. His hair is curly, and his teeth are mostly broken. Probably still in the process of forming, but the kid smiles nonetheless.

Terrence couldn’t help it. He grunts, looks straight ahead and slide his window up.

Fucking kid.

And then, he hears a thud from his window. It was quick, and light. When he looks over the kid again, the kid just smiles and points downward. On the ground. Terrence slides his window down and peeks outside.

It’s a lollipop.

The kid threw a fucking lollipop on his window.

“It’s for you!” The kid mutters excitedly.

Terrence really doesn’t want anything to do with this kid and he certainly is not in the mood for any lollipop right now but Terrence doesn’t feel like talking to the kid’s mom about it because he can see her talking to someone on the phone in her driver’s seat.

So, Terrence just opened the door, took the lollipop from the ground and muttered a timid “thank you” to the kid before sliding his window up again.

But just as he was in the middle of doing it . . .

“Why are you so sad?”

Terrence stops. He freezes, and for a moment, his mind goes blank. It’s not because of the question, but the tone. Terrence . . . he . . . The question felt like it was asked by somebody else. A voice very familiar to him. A voice very close to his heart.

“Why are you so sad?”

Eight year old him.

With his lose polo shirt and pants, yee-yee haircut and teeth full of cavities. Eight year old him, under the dining table, crying, shivering. Hiding.

“Why am I so sad?” He asks himself just as soon as the door flies open.

A shadow lingers from the corners. It was big, and scary. And angry.

“I better not see you, Terrence, or I’ll beat the shit out of you! Where are you?!”

Little Terrence cries even more. Tries not to make a noise, and shivers. Continues to shiver, hoping the fear goes away. Hoping he’ll finally have the courage to man up and say “Stay away from me, Dad! I don’t love you! You hurt me!”.

But that courage never came. Just as his mom never came. Nobody ever came to save him and he had to take it all—the pain, the suffering, every punch, every kick, every “YOU’RE A DUMBASS KID!” and every heartbreak. He had to take it all, until he couldn’t take it all anymore.

Apparently, the only courage Terrence could ever come up with in his life is not manning up and screaming straight into his Dad’s face. That type of courage should have occurred even before his Mom and Dad had a divorce when he almost killed her one night. The only courage he could do was to be angry. With everything. With everybody. His dad because he was a beating piece of shit. His mom because he let his dad be a beating piece of shit. His family because they did nothing when he told them his dad was being a beating piece of fucking shit.

That anger drove him to move out of the house by 16. Be homeless by 17, be fucking alcoholic by 18 and be fucking useless by 21. That anger drove him to do crazy things and the crazy things made him sad.

That is why I am sad, kiddo, Terrence thought as he fixes his gaze on the kid from the car beside him. I am sad because I am angry. And I am angry because I am sad.

How do you ever get out of this loophole?

Suddenly, Terrence’s phone beeps. It’s a voice message, and it’s the 456^th unopened voice message from his mom.

“Terrence,” She says, her voice getting old now but with the same gentleness and beauty like before. “It’s almost Christmas. I . . . Well, I’m not going to force you to come in here and spend Christmas with me seeing that you didn’t respond to any of my invitations before but I . . . I’m hoping you could spend some time with me today. I miss you so much, and it’s been a while since I last saw you. You are my baby, and you will always be my baby, no matter how angry you are with me. Please hear me. Because I want to hear you. And see you. And feel you. I hold you very dear to my heart. I love you.”

And the voice message ends.

Terrence’s eyes fills with tears so he flicks his gaze away from the kid and slides his window back up.

After all the things that happened today. After the job. After the girlfriend. After the happiness crisis and the hatred and the temptations and the insecurity. After all the memories, and the pain and the sorrow . . .

Terrence cries.

He slowly puts his forehead on the steering wheel, clenches his fists tight and just . . . cries.

Sobs. Wails.

 He couldn’t bring himself to stop. Everything feels so heavy, and everything feels so painful. He feels like flying away, but sticking to the ground as well.

Because Mom.

Lovely, lovely Mom.

How could he have ignored her all these years? How could he have been blind to not see her during his highest and lowest moments? She was there; everywhere, everytime. She was there.

Mom.

Lovely, lovely Mom.

Terrence re-dials her number with shaking hands and blurry vision. It took just three rings, before her voice soothed all the loneliness in his head.

“Terrence?” She mutters.

Terrence pauses, and swallows the lump in his throat. He speaks.

“Mama,” He says. “Wait for me. I’m coming home. I’m coming home to you.”