He lost count after passing the Marathon station. ‘Five? No that doesn’t seem right. He’s been driving longer than that. The fifth time was just before Taco Bell.’ And that gas station had the familiar flickering “M” that’s gone neglected all summer. He sat there, alone, in his overheated piece of shit car. Kept his mind busy traveling back in time to the moment he left work recreating the timeline of landmarks he passes on his way home.
‘Ah, seventh. Yeah because I was already into the warehousing district on the sixth.’ He thought to himself, pointing at no one.
Arm rested on the window he looked out into the darkness between the dark aluminum buildings. Dirty weeds reached out of small veins of soil that splintered across the concrete. It was hot and stagnant. An updraft of murky air rose from the dirty street bringing with it the heavy scent of asphalt and gasoline; with just a hint of skunk-like anti-freeze. The noise of the now-distant city collapsed into a single waveform and carried by like a low, constant wind.
The isolation of it all was comforting. The thick blanket of night and white noise providing a sense of protection.
Until the fear of an imaginary stranger coming out of the shadows shattered that comfort. Jumping awake he glanced at the engine temperature and turned the key in the ignition.
He’s owned this car so long that its idiosyncrasies became his. Like an old couple he could tell the instant something was wrong.
He didn’t get but three miles before the engine stuttered for a split second and the dash lights dimmed. Like some super human with x-ray vision he could look through the dash and visualize the cardboard shim he placed there the month before had moved slightly causing the spark plug cables to arc against the engine block and shorting out the electrical system.
Pulling over once again to adjust the shim he got out not even bothering to turn the car off. Lifting the hood he was met with spiderwebs of light that flashed along the engine block, radiating from one of the cables. He pulled the sleeve over his hand and nudged the chunk of cardboard under the offending exposed wire, insulating it from the exhaust manifold. He slammed the hood before the worry of being seen got to him.
The moment he put the car into gear it the engine spilled to a stop.
Silence. No dashboard dings or console lights.
‘What. The. Fuck.’
Removing the key and reinserting it in some hope as to reset what just happened he tried start his car.
Nothing. No starter, no click, nothing. It was completely dead.
He started to panic. Looking up and down the street he saw the light from a convenience store down the road. He planned out a route across the shadowy abandoned parking lot of a street, ramping up any interactions he might have to have on the way. If he could get to the store he could call his dad for help. But he had to make it to the store.
He locked his doors and started on his way up the dimly light road. Half way there he could hear the rhythmic pulse of music. Getting closer he noticed where it was coming from. One of the old warehouses had been invaded by ravers for the night. As he walked curiosity of identifying the song battled with the sudden realization he was yards from a hundred stressful complex social interactions.
It was a pretty familiar trance song. ‘Battlegrounds? No. Maybe a remix?’ he thought while sweeping his vision for any people who might be wandering around.
‘Oh definitely a remix. A Liam Howlett one at that. I dig it. I’m going to have to look for it when I get home. If I don’t die out here.’
He picked up the pace as the music faded behind him. So far so good. Nobody to make eye contact with. He was thankful for that.
Pretty soon a dirty sign with the words “Scott’s Party Store” hung over his head lighting the way to the pay phone. Then he froze. Where the pay phone should have been was just a gaping hole with some wires and trash growing out of it.
“FUCK” he said out loud. Hearing his own voice for the first time that night. It sounded loud and he quickly spun around to see if anyone might have heard him. When he did this he also noticed the store was closed.
He sank into his gut and started to panic. Walking to the side of the building where it was dark he sat down on the warm concrete among spots of dirt and broken glass. ‘What the fuck am i going to do?’ he repeated in his head.
He started to get pissed. Pissed at his car. Pissed at the store. Pissed at himself for having this complete non-condition that seems to make his life impossible to operate in. The anger started to quell the fear.
His only option was to go back to that warehouse.
Ironic that the same social fears that kept him from fixing his car in the first place lead to this moment of having to face them.
He marched back down the street not thinking. Determination damming the flood of anxiety he would other wise be feeling. He’s always wanted to go such a gathering. Never before has he wanted to do something so bad while being paralyzed by fear of doing it. Such a simple thing for most yet merely thinking about it would summon a rain of imaginary reasons he shouldn’t.
Closing in on the warehouse he saw a heavy steel door jutting out from weathered cinder blocks that encased this oasis of noise.
Nerves shuddered in his gut as he meekly reached for the handle and felt the pulsating static of the sound saturated handle reverberate his arm. He took one last look down the road at his car before pulling open the door and walking in.
