Right as Rain

“I understand I should have been watching the road, but you gotta admit, the guy came in out of nowhere. Besides, who the hell decides to stroll around at night in this weather? There’s practically a goddamn monsoon raging,” says the driver. 

The passenger nods meekly. 

“You don’t think it’s my fault, do you?”

The passenger’s head shakes.

"I'm terribly sorry you had to experience that."

The passenger nods in response.

"You must be distraught."

Another head shake.

“How’s he doing back there?” The driver frets.

The passenger’s head swivels toward the backseat. The mass that is sprawled out back there is still. The mass is wearing a rain jacket, which coruscates blue glints of light. The passenger mutters something.

“What? Speak up,” the driver urges.

“I said he’s still wheezing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, quite steadily too.”

“I don’t hear it.”

“Get your hearing checked. He’s breathing.”

“Fantastic. And you’re sure the hospital’s this way?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think we should’ve just called an ambulance?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No reception. Besides, this is faster.”

“Well I’m barely controlling this car. It isn’t all that easy to gun it in this downpour.”

“I know.”

“With hardly a streetlight, too.”

“I know.”

“Who knows, maybe another guy is gonna be stumbling alongside the goddamn interstate and then BAM, we’ll have to stack him atop our other guest.”

“Oh stop it.” 

“Our little personal double-decker ambulance.”

“I said stop.”

“Maybe that’s how they do it over in London.”

The passenger glares at the driver. The driver opens his mouth to continue, but shuts it upon second thought. A bump in the road sends the mass in the backseat rustling slightly on a bed of brochures and maps - placed there to minimize the drenching incurred by the addition of it. 

“Always something,” the driver mumbles.

No reply. 

“Doesn’t something just always come up?”

Nothing but rain in response. 

“I mean, we’ve been planning this for months.”

“Don’t be so selfish.”

“Oh come on, I’m driving this guy to a hospital! At great risk to the both of us, might I add. I think I’m allowed to express my frustrations.”

“Frustrations?”

“Well, no. Just an observation. A joke really.”

“Stop with the jokes.”

“Oh stop being so uptight. Bit of levity won’t make the situation worse.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, well. It’ll all work out. Jokes or not.”

The driver picks at a hangnail with his teeth. He gropes for a cigarette on the console but instead sends a condom crinkling to the floor. He abandons the plan for a cigarette when he realizes the passenger is glaring at him. He looks at the passenger with fretful eyes that do not seem to fit onto his well composed countenance. His hand continues to traipse about the console. As he does so, a stick of Nicorette is produced from the passenger's pocket, peeled, and placed into the driver's mouth. His ambling hand then reroutes and rests atop the passenger’s thigh. He opens his mouth to say something but chews instead. 

“We’ll get there. We still have the entire weekend ahead of us”, the passenger coos. 

“Yes.”

“After all, it's like that thing you say.”

“If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death.” 

“How fitting.”

“It’s from Macbeth”, the driver declares ostensibly. He ponders, then continues, “There is one thing to remember, however. You have to bring him into the hospital by yourself. “

“Why?”

“If anybody recognizes me there- God, I can’t imagine the scandals.”

“Oh, of course.” 

“God, I really don’t need any of this right now, to be honest”, he blurts, chewing the Nicorette feverishly.

“It’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure he’s…”

“Yes.”

“He looked pretty rough…”

“He’ll hold out. He's a tough one.”

"You think so?"

Rain occupies a gap in conversation. The driver hazards a glance at the mass in the backseat. He probes it cautiously and sees that it doesn’t stir. Satisfied, the driver instructs in a hush, “You know what to say right? You just go in there, say you found this guy, hit by a car, lying in the middle of the road. You say ‘Barely saw him there, ma’am, what a stroke of luck! What providence! Dragged the sack of potatoes into my car and rocketed straight over here.’ The rain undoubtedly washed the blood off our car, so no worry there. Our bumper looks fine. This guy was out cold from the impact,” he continues, gesturing toward the backseat, ” He won’t know it was us that hit him. You’re the good samaritan, no headache for us and everyone’s happy. Right?”

The passenger cracks a knuckle, perturbed.

“I don’t know, that sounds scary. What if I can’t do it? Well, why don’t you do it? You’re the actor here. You’d do it better and everyone will adore you. It won’t look bad at all.”

“No. Think. It’ll be all over the news. Actor turned hero. When my wife sees the news, she might think, ‘gee I wonder what he’s doing in Colorado considering he told me he was in L.A shooting that stupid goddamn superhero flick!’ No, you see that it won’t work. You have to do it.”

The passenger nods, crosses one leg over the other, in the process displacing the driver's resting hand. 

In a softer tone he keeps pressing, “In fact, I know you can do it. You’re good at almost everything you do. I have faith in you. And look, I hope everything turns out well. I wish him a full recovery. We’re doing everything we can. You do know plenty of people- the very thought enrages me- would have just abandoned him out on the side of the road. Sick people. We’re taking a great risk to save his life. Why should we ruin our lives in the process?” 

“I suppose you’re right. You do have an excellent way of putting it.”

“And I’ll be right outside in the car. It won’t take you very long at all. You’ll see it isn’t so bad.”

The buzz of precipitation subjugates all other noise in the car. Then:

“How’s he doing back there?” the driver inquires.

“Oh but he’s crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh but don’t you hear him?”

“What now?”

Twisting, the passenger calls “No, sir. We cannot let you out. Why, you need to go to the hospital.”

“He won’t consent? What’s the matter, he don’t got insurance?” The driver wisecracks.

“Stop it, he’s trying to say something.” 

“But why does he insist on leaving?”

“He won’t say.”

“He must be delirious.” 

“Tends to happen when one is hit by a car”, the passenger seeths. 

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault… Well, it was. But you can hardly blame me. Well, you can. But-”

“Quiet.”

“What?”

They exert their ears.

“He’s gone silent.”

“Check if he’s still breathing.”

“Oh, but can’t you hear his wheezing? It is so terribly loud after all.”

“Wheezing?”

“How couldn’t you? It’s enough to drive one mad.”

“Oh yes, there it is. Now I hear it. Why, I can even see his chest rising and falling from the rearview mirror.”

“Perhaps he’s come to his senses after all. He’ll be thanking us at the hospital.”

“Kissing our feet even!”

“Oh, and there it is, the hospital! You see?”

“Speak of the devil. You’re right!”

“I believe ‘such calms’ are now blowing our way!” The passenger cheers.

“Yet the storm rages on”, the driver looks to the sky.

“But we’ll miss the exit, slow down!”

The heap of flesh and bones, its dented head, slides off the seat and thumps onto the floor of the car. Its twisted ears are now incapable of hearing the same screeching brakes they heard a half hour ago. Its severed tongue is still held tight in the lips of its locked jaw, eternally unable to reproduce the cry it sent decaying into the thundering skies.