Paradigms
I want to keep journals, I think. Three: Happy; Sad; Pensive or Pissed. I wonder which would take the most hits. It’s time for my personal paradigm to shift, but I want to be along for the ride this time. In fact, I hope to drive – the whole way.
Growing up, my father was always behind the wheel. I remember one night (I must have been 6 or 7), sitting in the backseat, idly (nervously) turning the door lock. It was night time and I was watching oncoming cars blow by, a blur of the headlights jetting past. As I turned the knob of the door lock, I swore that if I turned clockwise, it made the car speed up; if I backed it back counter-clockwise, it made the car slow down. How could this be -- surely, I had fallen through the back door of a little known automotive mystery. As the car careened around the curves, I became frightened. Though I had the power to kill us all, once my father figured out that I was fucking with his flow, I would get the throttle. So, I sat back on my hands, relieved that in my restraint I had been spared. But I felt dishonest, as though I had gotten away with something. It was my eight-year-old paradoxical dilemma, and I prayed thanks to baby jesus for letting me escape the impending head-on collision.
The world is a hugh poorly maintained highway of car wrecks and driving hazards. The new math is body count – on and off road fatalities. Road rage. Broken turn signals. Cracked windshields. Zombies at the wheel with cell phones growing out of our heads. We are the living dead; we crossed over when we stopped caring for each other. Am I alive? I sniff my hands. Do I smell? Is my hair brittle and strong as rope where it will always out live my flesh? I rake my fingers over my scalp. No, still soft however flat for my liking. Am I a zombie? Some days it’s a struggle to live in the light. I remember when darkness was the most comfortable place to be. There is something so appealing and oddly soothing about living in shadows dark and dirty. But I feel better here, framed in sunlight inside the windshield, as I sit in this death trap on cruise control trying to stay inside the perfectly painted lines, trying not to tailgate, trying to give the proper signals, at just the right speed, not too fast, not too slow. But, I’ve grown night blind, so when I drive, I have to do it in the light time.
Growing up, my father was always behind the wheel. I remember one night (I must have been 6 or 7), sitting in the backseat, idly (nervously) turning the door lock. It was night time and I was watching oncoming cars blow by, a blur of the headlights jetting past. As I turned the knob of the door lock, I swore that if I turned clockwise, it made the car speed up; if I backed it back counter-clockwise, it made the car slow down. How could this be -- surely, I had fallen through the back door of a little known automotive mystery. As the car careened around the curves, I became frightened. Though I had the power to kill us all, once my father figured out that I was fucking with his flow, I would get the throttle. So, I sat back on my hands, relieved that in my restraint I had been spared. But I felt dishonest, as though I had gotten away with something. It was my eight-year-old paradoxical dilemma, and I prayed thanks to baby jesus for letting me escape the impending head-on collision.
The world is a hugh poorly maintained highway of car wrecks and driving hazards. The new math is body count – on and off road fatalities. Road rage. Broken turn signals. Cracked windshields. Zombies at the wheel with cell phones growing out of our heads. We are the living dead; we crossed over when we stopped caring for each other. Am I alive? I sniff my hands. Do I smell? Is my hair brittle and strong as rope where it will always out live my flesh? I rake my fingers over my scalp. No, still soft however flat for my liking. Am I a zombie? Some days it’s a struggle to live in the light. I remember when darkness was the most comfortable place to be. There is something so appealing and oddly soothing about living in shadows dark and dirty. But I feel better here, framed in sunlight inside the windshield, as I sit in this death trap on cruise control trying to stay inside the perfectly painted lines, trying not to tailgate, trying to give the proper signals, at just the right speed, not too fast, not too slow. But, I’ve grown night blind, so when I drive, I have to do it in the light time.
posted by Ruby Fowler at 9:44 AM
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