wearedriving

We are driving.
Roadtrip.
That kind of thing.

A previous argument has disabled everyone in the vehicle.
No one wants to speak and the driver is especially uncomfortable.
I sit in the back seat and stare out the window.
It’s dark as electrical tape outside, the only light from the high beams that bounce off the road in front of us.
I’m too wired to sleep.
Everyone else is wide awake as well, unable to ignore each other.
And so goes it.

The driver decides, to fill the silence, turns on the radio.
Ticking through the channels like a worried teleprompter, he tries to discover a station that plays music everyone likes.
Not likely.
But besides that, all he can locate is static.
STATICSTATICSTATIC.

The passengers – and me – are getting sick of this white noise.
It’s no substitute for conversation.
Until –
the driver discovers a voice.

It says, T-MINUS 1 HOUR 3 MINUTES
And then static again.

A minute later.
T-MINUS 1 HOUR 2 MINUTES.
And then static again.

We’re still silent in the car, but we’re all sitting upright, waiting for the lulls in the nearly endless static sea.
Still silent to each other.

T-MINUS 57 MINUTES.
The cold voice of a computer echoing in our little box.
A sign says, 50 miles to somewhere.
Destination isn’t important anymore.

T-MINUS 49 MINUTES.
Still waiting.
No explanation.
No reasoning behind any of it.

We’ve mostly forgotten the argument, but not the anger.
We’re retaining that at least.
I think the argument was something about . . .

Existence.

T-MINUS 33 MINUTES.
. . . and counting, one of us whispers.
No one else speaks. The static is enough for us.


And we just kept driving.
Just kept going.
And going.

And going.