Whisky on the Road

Kylie, where are you?  Where are you when I need you?  How long have I been lying here, waiting for the pain to arrive?  It can’t be far off now.  But then it’s probably only been a short while.  Hard to judge when I keep drifting in and out. 

         The snow is beautiful.  It’s the kind of thing you’d appreciate.  It appears out of the darkness above me in big, soft chunks and I feel it land on my face; I feel the individual crystals dissolve into icy water as they sit against my skin.  The coldness is reassuring.

There must be light coming from somewhere if I can see the snow.  No moon tonight.  Just clouds and snow.  It swirls down out of nothingness into the light and watching it I almost feel like I’m floating, rising up to meet those big flakes.  It’s kind of nauseating, how I rush through the swirling vortex like I’m being sucked away into the Great Beyond.

         I can’t move, or maybe I’m just afraid to.  Maybe I know there’s no use in moving; there can’t be after that spectacular crash.  I’ve seen cars fly through the air like that in movies, so I know what it must have looked like as my car flipped upside-down and spun like a top across the road.  It was over so fast I didn’t even feel it.  I don’t remember the impact, just waking up here, outside of my car somehow (wasn’t I wearing my seatbelt?) and waiting for the pain, almost hoping for it.  At least then I can gauge the damage.  It’s the not knowing that I can’t stand.

         In the coldness I can smell whisky.  I can always smell things better when it’s cold.  Bottle must have broken in the crash.  That ought to do me good when the cops get here.  Not that getting arrested is my foremost concern.  But damn, I could use a drink right now.  How I would love a drink.  What a shame that I had a whole unopened bottle and now all I can do is sit here and smell it and wish I could just have a drink.  It was good stuff, too.  I was really looking forward to that tonight.

         Shit, don’t pass out, Mike.  Not yet.  Give them a chance to find you before you slip away.  How long before the temperature drops and the snow stops melting on my face?  I’ll be buried in the next hour for sure, two hours tops.  It’s coming down good now.  So pretty, that god damned snow. 

         I must be paralyzed.  Can’t move a frigging muscle.  Or maybe a brain injury.  But then why can I think so clearly?  It reminds me of the time I smoked hash as a kid.  I was so stoned I couldn’t even move my fingers.  Thought I was going to die. 

         They’ll find a way to make this seem my fault.  I just know it.  Maybe the whisky will be enough to do me in.  I was being careful, but that station wagon.  Swerving all over the place, right into my lane.  I think he hit me, or maybe I dodged him and then ramped off the guard rail.  I wonder what happened to him.  Probably drove off, the bastard.  But holy shit, what a ride.  I can’t believe I’m still alive, really.  People have died from a lot less.

         I can hear you now, Kylie.  You don’t even know what happened but you know how I could have avoided it.  I shouldn’t go so fast, or follow so closely, or drive when I’m angry, right?  Don’t brake so late; don’t accelerate so hard; don’t change lanes so often.  You always know what’s best.  I guess it would bring you some satisfaction to see me here now with my ice-encrusted eyebrows and goatee.  I’m probably bleeding profusely too.  Maybe my legs are cut off and I don’t even know it; wouldn’t that be a riot! 

         Where the hell is the ambulance?  Surely someone has driven by since I took flight.  I’m going to die out here!  I’m going to die out here.  It’s really happening, isn’t it?  I feel the pain now but it’s not attached to my body; it’s everywhere at once without being anywhere in particular.  Maybe this is what dying feels like; your entire being crying and aching as life leaves it. 

         I can hardly see the snow now; it’s more like a haze, or maybe a fog.  It must be getting warmer.  The light’s getting dimmer, too.  I can still see little drops of moisture drifting down out of the fog but I can’t feel them hitting my face.  I can’t even tell if I’m breathing.  Everything hurts yet there’s no feeling.  How strange.  It’s not that bad, I guess.  I expected it to be much worse when I first came to.  I was never very good at tolerating pain.  I’m much better at avoiding it

         Pain, the most widely distributed currency of all.  I’ve long wondered when I would have to pay my deficit.  Life seems to have a way of collecting before it’s all over, and just when you thought you were off the hook.  Yet I still feel like I’m getting off easy.  Not that I’ve been a bad person.  A little selfish, but essentially decent, right Kylie?  You can vouch for me.  You know I’m a good man at heart.  I wanted to have kids eventually.  But my opinion counts for something too, you know.  You can’t always get what you want, Kylie.  Most of the time, but not always. 

Who am I kidding?  You were too good for me, as much as I complained about you and thought about other women.  I don’t think any man really knows how good he has it.  Only when it’s too late.  That’s when we realize how stupid we’ve been.  I hated you sometimes, but look at all that you had to put up with!  If I were you I probably would have left me years ago. 

         Now I suppose I should pray.  Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?  How bad will mom and dad feel, knowing that I died a sinner?  Do Christians really worry about people after they’ve died?  Mom would for sure.  And you would too, wouldn’t you?  But at least you’d have the satisfaction of once again knowing that you were right all along.  See what happens when I don’t listen to you?  I suffer for eternity. 

         All these sacrilegious thoughts probably won’t help me.  But if I’m dying, why don’t I care more about it?  Where’s the fear?  Where’s the repentance and the begging for forgiveness?  Maybe I’m just too tired and frozen to be worried about it.  And anyway, is God so easily fooled?  Would He really believe me if I were to repent right here and now?  Could I convince Him of my loyalty and devotion after a life of selfishness, He who can see right into my soul?  Could I even convince myself?

         Whatever; I’ve had about enough of this anyway.  Time to let it all go.  If I’m damned, so be it.  I’m not dying; I’m just falling asleep.  Maybe in my dreams that whisky won’t be broken and soaked into the road, and I can finally have a drink.  That’s all I wanted to do tonight; get home and have a drink.  There had better be good whisky wherever I end up.

         I’m so sorry, Kylie.  I hope you can forget about what I said.  I’d take it back now if I could.  What words to remember me by!  You’re such an asshole, Mike.  If there was ever any doubt you’ve surely proven it now.  I’m sorry, Kylie.  I love you.  You might not have known it, I might not even have known it, but I know it now. 

         It’s not so cold anymore…