Over Under

*contains themes of violence*

I heavily regret my actions. Atrociously. Abysmally. If there were more adjectives I could think of, I would’ve included them.

The phrase “and it was all just a dream” could be perfect right now. It was just a simple brush aside, and nothing mattered anymore. But that happened in movies, and books, and short stories as a quick ending, and you could stop caring about what happens next because it didn’t truly matter. It was a dream anyways.

Except I wasn’t reading, or watching a cheap movie or show. I was stuck on a highway, in the middle of the night, squeezing my thighs together.

I was stuck in “car-jail”, or when you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, in a car, with a person you really can’t stand, and they’re talking to you. You can’t leave, or make an excuse, you just have to sit there and listen.

The only thing worse than that is having to go to the bathroom really really badly.

“—And excuse my language, but what the fuck is she thinking. I mean really? You—”

I turned away to the window so I could cringe. It was night right now, and with some good music, it would almost be peaceful.

“—have all this money,” he was saying. Money, money, money, always about money with him. “You’re house hold income is six fucking figures and you’re on government help?”

I really couldn’t care at that moment, I just wanted to go home. That, and his “girlfriend”, or whatever she was to him, was dumb as polyester. Thin, flimsy, plastic cloth. Fake.

“Mm.” I said.

“That’s fraud, that’s illegal.”

“And, you know what. I really think that on that day,” the mediation, “God was on my side.”

My eyes rolled all the way back to my head. I wish I could sleep, and just escape the torment of it all.

“I truly think that God saw the truthfulness in my heart,” I stopped listening.

The truthfulness being that he’s a hypocrite, a liar, a cheat, and a man who was crumbling. More than once, every time I talked to him, it was as if his mind was falling apart. He saw himself as this righteous figure, this holy man who all he had was good in is heart, and that there was nothing wrong. Well, nothing wrong with him.

That somehow, deep in his mind, he was the holiest of man. Was it a Christianity complex? Some sort of victim-opionated mind? Possibly, I’m not a psychologist.

“Hmph,” I hummed, letting air out of my lips.

“What?”

I swallowed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks, “Nothing, sorry. Just sighing.”

“Why? No, tell me, I want to know what’s on your mind.” His voice was so passive aggressive, it was so thick, it filled the car.

“I just-” I hesitated. I could say it, just get it over with and spew it out. Or I could just… not. I was stuck in a car—checked the GPS, 32 minutes left—bumper-to-bumper traffic, no way out, stuck.

“What truthfulness?”

He didn’t say anything, silently edging me to continue.

“I mean, when have you ever been truthful?”

“What do mean, 'when have I ever been truthful'.”

“Well, you cheated on Mom.”

He exploded, his face turning red, not from the reflection of the steady line of red headlights in front of us.

“I never cheated on mom. As God is my witness, I never fucking cheated. That underwear that you guys found, I don’t even know where it came from. Now, I don’t wanna go accusing, but for all I know, mom could’ve planted that underwear. I know she was with her friends that weekend, that could’ve come from her. Have you ever thought about that? No, of course not. All I’m saying is that mom isn’t so fucking innocent.”

He took a deep breath, which would've been quite comedic. Save for the fact that we never told him we found the underwear because, funnily enough at the time, we were already tired of him, and just washed his laundry, underwear and all, folded it, and placed it on their bed where it was put away that night.

“You know, when we lived in Florida, mom had opened a bank account without telling me?” he looked at me to gauge my reaction, “Yeah, she opened it and put all the money she made on commission into that account. And get this, she opened accounts with men. And would tell me that it was just a way for her to get paid, to transfer the money.”

I was tired. My arms ached. What the hell have I done? This was worse than being stuck in a car and having to really urinate at the same time, this was exhausting. I was exhausted, tired, my ears hurt. My head hurts. My eyes ached.

“What men?” I sighed, rubbing my forehead.

“I don’t fucking know, men!” He said it like Hail Mary, like he was yelling at God.

I shook my head. The traffic was starting to loosen up, finally. But the construction had narrowed the already bottle-neck-two-lane-road into a tight one-lane.

29 minutes. I could do this.

“First of all, what men? Second of all, how? I mean, how can you just open an account with a random man? It doesn’t make any sense- I mean, be realistic.”

“Jackie. C’mon, don’t do this shit with me.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying—”

“No, Mom wasn’t all fucking rainbows and puppies, and you aren’t too.”

When the fuck was I dragged into this.

“Dad, I’m just saying—oh my god-"

He had been speeding, there was never any use telling him to slow down, he’d just get angry at you for nagging. But in the heat of arguing, he had sped up, and the long red line of car lights was appearing closer and closer, looming. But I hadn’t noticed because I had been looking out the window, trying to reel my thoughts in.

He was going too fast.

I gripped the seat cushion, my heart leaping to my throat. “Dad.”

He didn’t say anything but there wasn’t any time. He jerked the steering wheel, and the car crashed against the plastic barriers that had been set up from the construction. And for an awful second, there was a giant force that whipped the car, I felt it press me against the seat, then a weightless feeling.

We were on a bridge.

I lifted from the seat, floating for just a brief, overwhelming second, and finally—

I closed my eyes. Dreaming, I thought. I am asleep and I am dreaming and I am flying through my dreams.