Drive: A Short Story
“Drive!”
***
“Come on man—every single time! Seriously, I get stopped by this light every single time!” That is what I shouted out loud moments before my life was turned upside down, or better yet, inside out.
I often speak out loud in my car to myself (though sometimes my self-speak is directed toward other drivers when they need simple correction from my infinite bank of driving wisdom). After my outburst, I twisted my neck to and fro, subconsciously scanning the landscape to ensure I was the only witness to my little psychosis. I did not see any other car at the intersection. I wondered why the stupid stoplight was red if there were no other cars at the intercession.
Suddenly, I realized I was not alone. In a brief, suspended moment in time, a black-gloved hand, belonging to a medium-sized figure, wearing a ski mask (he could not have been more of a stereotype) snatched the passenger door handle like a ninja on a fly. Even in hindsight, I find I'm never quite quick enough to reach across the center console and depress the manual lock.
“Where to?” My voice sounded simultaneously shaky and confident if that is even possible. The pistol-shaped object to which he was clinging caused the butterflies. Nevertheless, the coincidence of being carjacked at that intersection at that particular time of day offered some comic relief. I knew this light would be the death of me one day, I thought. Alanis Morissette said it well, “It figures.”
“The Circle-K.”
“Figures.”
“Say what?”
“Uh, nothing. At your service.” Wow. I'm an idiot, I thought. Even when I’m being carjacked, I’m sarcastic. Come on man. This is survival. Just drive this dude to his destination, let him run inside, I’ll call the cops, and this thing will be over. Just don’t do anything stupid, stupid, I said to myself.
“No! What are you doing?” He barked. “Turn right!”
“10-4,” I replied. What is this guy’s deal, I wondered? I could see the Circle K from there. It was just two blocks away. Maybe he wants to drive around the backside where the spectators are not so plentiful. .I figured he must not from around there; otherwise, he would have known that "around back" is where the cops park their squad cars and drink their $1.29 large coffees.
We made our way down Marybelle Boulevard without conversation, but not in silence. I was in the midst of scanning the FM radio when I approached that stoplight before that jerk jumped in my car. I had inadvertently landed on conservative talk radio. I reached down to turn it off.
“Whoa! Hands on the wheel!” Ski Mask Guy shouted, gripping that pistol-looking-thing even tighter.
“Oh, man, dude,” I stumbled over my words, “I’m just trying to turn down this radio. Talk radio makes me nauseous.”
“Leave it. I like it. I like to know what’s going on in the world.”
Really? Who knew carjackers listened to talk radio, I wondered?
“Those liberals are going to destroy us,” Ski Mask Guy interjected into the silence, “Those fools are going to send America to hell-in-a-hand-basket.”
“How do we fix it?” I asked him, attempting to build some rapport with my captor.
“Turn right,” he said, before launching into a nauseating rant about policies and programs that he would institute if he was president, or king, or something. He sounded like someone I used to know back in the day. He’s fiery and passionate, kind of like, man, who was that I thought? Anyway, too bad you can’t vote in jail, I thought. Too bad he does not know how to get around town. I know this town. I need to get this guy to the Circle K.
He ranted, I turned left. He raved I turned right.
“Phew, don’t you have AC?” He complained as he tried to move levers and flip switches. I guess he should have given a little more thought to the decade in which the car he jacked was made, I said to myself.
When he removed his ski mask, he turned his head to the right to look out the window. Out of the corner of my eye, something about his face caught my attention. He was freshly shaven, and he had most of his hair, but something looked so strikingly familiar that I could not take my eyes off of his face. I knew that face. If I could just get a good look, I thought, just one look…
“Dude watch out!” He yelled, justified, as we approached a stationary car. Tires squealed as I swerved to the left. The stationary car was parallel parked, and I was in the wrong. Whoops, I thought.
“What are you doing!?” He shouted, “Eyes on the road, man. This your first time driving? Maybe I picked the wrong guy for this job. You really are—”
“Are you kidding me!?” I fired back. I am the best driver I know, and I was not going to let anyone, even a carjacker, tell me any differently, “You carjacked me, man! I’ll drive wherever I want!”
“No, you won’t,” he said more calmly, but he made his point well. With that pistol-looking thing in my face, I lost the zeal to continue arguing. I had to open my big sarcastic mouth, I thought, but at least we were heading the right direction.
We arrived at his destination. The formerly masked and suspiciously familiar young man had not taken my cell phone. He could have been the mascot for the world’s dumbest criminals. I shifted the car to park.
“I’ll leave it running,” I said.
“No need,” he answered, as he finally looked me in the eye. He smirked and pulled the trigger. My heart skipped a beat.
***
The young man laughed as I wiped the water from my eyes. He dropped the water pistol on the center console and with both hands grabbed the ski mask. I blinked and regained focus just before his face disappeared again behind the mask. I knew that young face. I knew it better than any other face I had ever seen. The smirking face before me was me.