Five Minutes From Home

A single headlight creates a tunnel of visibility through the backstreets of my suburb. A light downpour outside looks more like floating dust than rain. It's a good thing I know this area well enough that the void outside my limited field of view does not bother me. The darkness occasionally creeps in as the only working light blinks; I should get that fixed. Not that it matters. I am only five minutes from home; it is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I want to soothe this tingle in my body with the warm safety of my bed. Who knew half a bottle would cause such a buzz? It must be because I did not eat anything. It's safe to drive home, no matter what Jerry says. His protests were left in the car park dust as I pulled away. My ears flooded with my favourite tunes. Even now, he is calling and checking in on me. He seriously needs to chill out sometimes. I steal a glance at my phone for a fraction of a second. Enough time for my entire world to change.

A blur of movement splashes over the bonnet. I slam my foot hard onto the break. The car spins three hundred and sixty degrees like the carriage on a theme park ride. The screeching sounds of metal, rubber, and bitumen merge into a terrifying symphony before a sudden silence. The only sound remaining is the gentle ticking of the engine as it settles from the panic we share.

I feel the salty taste of the few chips I ate earlier rising in my throat. It mixes with bile as they attempt to evacuate from the swirling storm that is my stomach. I close my eyes to calm everything. I wonder if keeping them closed will mean never having to find out what the fuck just happened. That is not an option. But it is a nice thought for now. The pitch-black comfort at the back of my eyelids helps the universe make sense for a minute. My breathing slows, and tranquillity washes over me like a gentle breeze. Given how desperate I was for bed, maybe I could sleep here.

“Open your fucking eyes,” I whisper to myself. Reality seeps in through the cracks as I force them to peel open. It all looks like an out-of-focus shot from a cheaply made movie. My single working headlight still flickers away at irregular intervals. Only now, it illuminates something more than empty streets and misty rain.

I lean forward to get a better view but am wrestled backward by my seatbelt. I can make out a mass of something on the road. Maybe it is some debris or rubbish that blew into my path. People in this part of town are constantly piling junk up on the side of the street. Whatever it is, it landed right in the middle of a set of unfamiliar zebra stripes, which seems weird. There are no pedestrian crossings out here… is there? Indeed, this is just the half bottle of red playing tricks on me. Stupid Jerry always orders the strongest vino on the menu.

Did it just move? I scan the lifeless mass and argue with my brain about what I might be looking at. It starts small and round, broadens out, and then narrows again. Something is caught in my throat when I realise what could be out there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter to myself as I fiddle with my seatbelt buckle. Why do these things never cooperate when you are in a rush? I shove the car door open and feel a burning sting in my knees and palms as I fall on the road. I must still be dizzy from when the car spun out. I get to my feet and stare silently at the human shape lying flat before me. “Hello,” I call out. “Are you OK?” Nothing.

It is only ten meters away, but the walk feels like a marathon. I see shoulder-length blonde hair, an oversized grey hoody, and several plastic shopping bags upended. Milk, bread, and some random cans have emptied their contents everywhere in a way that almost resembles a miniature landscape. Lakes of liquid push up against mountains of dough and tin. Only the colour of it seems wrong. I expect to see the perfect white of dairy, but instead, I am greeted by a dark red. The same colour as the Merlot Jerry had selected.

It was such a nice drop. Those few glasses went down a treat. Jerry and I always have good times when we catch up. He is one of those friends that you have not seen for months. But when you do, it is like you only saw him yesterday. An overprotective type, too. The stupid prick took my keys off me because he thought I was drunk. I should not have told him I had been sinking beers after work before heading to the wine bar. He decided that meant I was too drunk to drive. The idiot didn’t realise I had memorised the drink-driving ads from the nineties.

“Two in the first hour and one every hour after,” I had slurred at him.

“But you just had two drinks in the hour we have been here,” Jerry replied.

“It all balances out for fucks sake, Jerry. Now give me my keys.”

I swiped them out of his hand when he stopped to take a call from his wife. I could hear my phone buzzing like a crazed fly back in the car. He was still trying to call me. Maybe I should answer. Perhaps he needs to know how this is all his fault. The stupid fucker should have tried harder to stop me from driving. Why did he allow me to get my keys back and not just shove my drunk ass into a taxi?

I clutch my head with both hands, hoping to crush it as if that might make this shit show of a dream end. My breathing is out of control as I search the ground for anything other than what I am pretty sure is blood, not merlot. The sensation sweeping every inch of my body is like the evil twin of the pleasant buzz I felt only minutes ago.

“Seriously, what have you done,” I shout at myself. “Just check if they are alive. They might need an ambulance.” I now have entire conversations with myself like the nutcase I am.

I turn back to confront what I have been avoiding. I move at a snail’s pace, still waiting for Jerry or someone to jump out from behind a bush and tell me it is all a joke. I approach the body and kneel. A cool dampness stings the scrapes on my knee. I decide not to look at whatever I have landed in. The flicking headlight casts my shadow over this poor fucker like the harbinger of death that I have become.

“Hello,” I say to the motionless blob. “I am so sorry. You came out of nowhere. Can I call you an ambulance?” Nothing. “Hey, I am just going to touch your shoulder. I hope that is OK.” I reach out and feel a cold, bony shoulder in my palm. I gently shake it like I am trying to wake a baby. Nothing. “Hello,” I say again. I jiggle them with a bit more force. This time, I rolled them toward me.

My hands and feet slip in the mess of liquids as I stumble backward. I flail about like an injured crab before eventually falling flat, rolling over, and then covering the road in vomit. I hazard a look back at the body to see the eyes of a young woman staring back at me. Only they have no life. They hang open, unblinking. The cuts, bruises, and blood caused by Jerry letting me drive create a map of horror on her face.

“Fuck, what do I do? What do I do?” I ask myself as I move into a ball. My arms clutched around my knees in the fetal position. “Think, you idiot, think. Fuck. This is all Jerry’s fault. Just get back into the car and leave.” It's not a terrible idea.

I look back at my shit box of a sedan with its single headlight. It still loses power occasionally, like it is winking at me. I think it agrees with my decision to go. I quickly assess it for any signs of damage that did not already exist. It seems fine, just as beat up as it always is. I use every ounce of strength to stand. The adrenaline pumping through my veins masks the pain of every bump and bruise of the last few minutes. I take one final look back at the person who simply tried to cross the road.

“I am so sorry,” I whisper.

I fall back into the driver’s seat and pull away. The terror that I caused behind me grows smaller. I still look forward to getting back to the safety of my bed. Anywhere would be better than here.

I am never drinking with Jerry again.