The Driver's Side

A black SUV speeds through highway 93 over the Zakim bridge and into the tunnel. It zooms around, dodging cars until it comes to an abrupt halt. The driver turns his head around trying to explain his shortened version of how the universe works to his passenger. The man in the backseat looks up from his phone, slowly glances at the traffic in front of him and dips his eyes back to the phone screen until it rings. He answers in disgust. I had not heard his voice other than confirming his name followed by a muttered location.

We are in fuckin traffic and I’m gonna miss my fuckin flight because of that fuckin bitch. I gotta go.

The man ends the conversation without a sound from the other side. Who is this guy? Who is in my car? I was trying to narrate this scenario as a script per usual during my shift, but was falling short of ideas with his cold silence. Sounds like it might be a long night if this traffic doesn’t start moving.

I can sense his frustration seeping through the leather head rest towards me.

Is there any possible way to get through these goddamn assholes. He exclaims. My sole response was that I’d try my best.

I’ve dealt with guys like this before but none to this caliber. Something was stressing his life and it oozed out of him. I feel these things for others but not for myself. He was due for a spark. I kept calm and realized it’s not about me.

When the traffic let up I weaved through cars as if I was the underdog on a mission. I was. I was determined to get this man to his location on time.

We pull up to the gate at Logan airport. The man gets out in a hurry. He takes leaping steps towards the door and with my foot eagerly on the gas peddle I catch him running towards the car. Do not move he yells to me. You’ll get paid. So, I sit and wait. How long should I wait? A man like that will not call to tell me he’s able to catch his flight, so I grant him a half hour. It’s my last ride for the night and the girl I’ve been dating is waiting for me to pick her up.

Thirty minutes from his exit the car is in drive, but can’t go too far. I move one car length until my back door opens and the man jumps in.

I thought I told you to wait, the defeated man mutters. Catching his breath he sat for a few more minutes in bitter silence. I felt his hurried breath as I navigated through the airport chaos. Politely as my voice could muster, back to where I picked you up, sir? He perked up. Are you crazy. You have to drive me to New York City. I’ll pay.

I slow down. Sir, to be honest I can’t do that. It's late and I have plans, my girl lives down the street. He cut me off. Go pick her up, tell her not to speak, look at or engage with me, and take her with. I’ll get you a room in the city. Call her and make it quick.

So, I did. She didn’t. It was a smooth transaction. She was in the front seat facing forwards, and we were on our way. I was surprised and relieved that we were into hour two of four plus at 11pm heading to NYC, with a disturbed man, who’s getting a room for me and a girl I’ve barely known six months.

The silence became real as the highway became more open. I could sense her impatience growing. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her curiosity set in and began asking questions. His responses were delayed, short, and snarky.

My focus on the road shifted as her body spun around turning to the man as they lock eyes. They stay silent for a couple of minutes and then laughter bursts out from the both of them. I’m shocked and confused and without hesitation she’s in the backseat hugging the man. My professionalism continues along with an uneasy feeling running through my soul.

I hear them giggling like school children as I tune in. To my disappointing surprise, they had been high school sweethearts twenty years prior. They remembered each other perfectly and nostalgia set in. All the while I felt more like just a driver than I ever have. I completely tuned them out focusing on the road and my own thoughts.

An hour remained as my excitement for a night in NYC slowly sank behind my tired mind as a third wheel. No one said anything to me the rest of the ride. I drove, and they laughed me right into a night of upcoming depression.

We arrived at the man’s destination in record time. He shook my hand and said thank you. She walked him to the door where they exchanged hugs and a small kiss on the lips. I died inside for some moments questioning my entire existence.

I stared from the drivers side as the walls of my skull were being pounded on from the anxiety lined blood pumping and circulating throughout my skull. I was in a trance. I went somewhere else until hearing a pleasant sounding voice call out to me. She returned to the car smiling as if nothing had ripped my chest apart. The door opens as she slides into the front seat once again.

My foot steps on the break as my hand shifts into drive. As I ease off the pedal I can feel her staring into my soul. She pokes me in the arm and starts laughing. I’m confused. I turn to her asking to explain. He’s gay she screams out before the story. I was his last girlfriend, ever! We had lost touch when he moved to NYC for college. He was in Boston to ask his mother for his grandmothers ring to propose to his boyfriend. She said no, caused him to miss his flight, and he we are. She leans over with a kiss on my cheek. I tried to involve you in the conversation but you did not respond. I figured you were being professional, so I let it be.

The mental fatigue was all I could comprehend marked with insecurities and confusion followed by my heart beat slowing and her muffled voice becoming more clear telling me to check my Venmo.

I did. I began to swipe through to find the app while containing a dry emotion. My inner monologue repeating all sorts of questions as I saw the tip he left. Am I hallucinating with this number I whispered as she peeked over my shoulder? I sat in awe looking down into my lap which has been plastered to the car seat for hours. I turned to her with a rising smile. Where to? Back to the beginning she whispers as she fades away and a hurried man slides into the backseat of my SUV disturbing my day dream. I perk up. He confirms his name, mutters his location as we drive over the Zakim Bridge into the tunnel towards the awaiting traffic. I turned to him with my shortened version of how the universe works.