HIDDEN MISTAKES

Hidden Mistakes

The radio static blasted through the speakers, all around were soaring fields of cornstalk, a creepy scene on a night like this. The overstretched, twist and turns of the road felt like a faraway drive to neverland. I was staying at my boss’s old home with my wife. The house that settled way too close to an enticing cliff that led to ghastly waves chunking off at the rocks below. Enticing only because I would walk to the far edge, hearing the waves crunch below, convincing myself a jump into the ocean wouldn’t be so bad, a chance to get away in hopes of finding the little mermaid.

It behooved me how I’m able to think of other things when I could hardly see the road and the cheap liquor starting to creep into my normally functional brain. The rain beat down on my car with no remorse, and blue lightning streaks lit the sky up to display chunky clouds resting full of angry rain showers. I was cranking along in my 1964 Pontiac GTO that I refused to give up, even though she had many “issues”, like the mildew rotten seats, the broken headlight which made it even more of a challenge to see, and the damned radio that only tuned into static no matter the place or time.

The road started to curve in places where there was no curve and in my drunken mind state, I only obliged and swerved and curved with the never changing road. The radio began spitting out words, a “but” here and a “maybe” there, nothing comprehensive but worth a buzz of faith in my ancient Pontiac. My phone pierced the air with its obnoxious, but welcoming, ringtone. An alarmingly gentle, but very much needed reminder, that I wasn’t alone out in this atrocious storm.

In my drunken mind state, I gripped the wheel with one hand, my left to be exact, and I’m right-handed so that should give me a crumb of sympathy for what’s about to happen next.

I fumbled through my man purse, which in my defense was a gift from my wife’s dead relative so I couldn’t trash it and she made it her mission I paraded it around every day. The bag was made in Hell, with latches and locks everywhere. I had no choice but take my eyes off the road to unlock the intricate padlock just to reach my phone. To my bastard luck, the phone was tucked under my two hefty books and loads of paperwork from earlier that day. Was it hiding from me? Didn’t it know I was batshit drunk, battling Mother Nature, and cooperating with a car that didn’t want to cooperate with me...? Was God playing tricks with me? My focus was now completely on this wretched phone blasting and vibrating, totally dismissing the fact I was the driver and the road was slick. I reached my phone only to lose complete control of the wheel, my left hand proving why it is my left hand and rendered completely useless.

My loving Pontiac showed me no love, like any materialistic thing, and swerved off the road. I wanted to close my eyes, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The mile high wet cornstalk slapped against my window, the car eating up the corn like a hungry bull. I tried to punch down on the brakes only for them to loosely slam down to the floor. The fucking brakes were broke! I tried a few more times, even attempting to shift the gears. I couldn’t be more disappointed with my Pontiac baby. I cleared the heavy thicket of darkness, into clear air, just to blast into the side of a barn.

Wooden planks tumbled onto the roof dust exploded all around and hay sprinkled the air. The car stunk of burnt gas along with the seatbelt becoming another challenge my beloved Pontiac was giving me. At least the rain lightened up, hoping out of guilt since this accident was 80% her fault. My phone barked its sinister ringtone, the other 20% of the accident. I dumped all the belongings out of my bag, irritated that someone have the nerve to call me at a time like this. It was my wife.

“Hello? Hello? Carl, when are you coming home? I made dinner and its getting cold, and you know how the microwaved meatloaf taste after its been shocked with those electricity waves-.“

“Honey, I’m fine. I’m fine.” I interrupted before she began her downward spiral of extraneous talking. “I was on my way home, but its raining pretty bad, or at least it was. I wrecked my baby on the side of some old barn.” I admitted, slowly getting out the car to examine the wreckage. Another miniature dust storm erupted as I opened the door, unsettling the debris that was starting to settle. The rain soaked mostly everything, so I stepped out into a muddy puddle. My oh-so professional shoes and the ends of my oh-so crisp pants drenched in dirty water.

“Well… It seems you’re okay, would you like me to come get you or do you have any other option in mind?” My wife questioned, what other option could she be referring to? If she didn’t want to drive to get me she didn’t have to make me feel like she wanted to. I walked a little-ways from the wreck just to get a good idea of how deep of shit I was really in and if I needed to care or not. The rain was no more than a mist, thankfully, and the moon was now shinning its brilliant light on my car wreck. How sweet.

“It’s fine, I’ll just get a taxi, I’m pretty sure I’m not too far away. Keep me a plate out, I’ll suffer with microwavable food.” I said, now fully examining my mess. My wife said her goodbyes and clicked the receiver off, quite in a rush for the wife of a husband who was just in a brutal, traumatizing car accident. I made a nice hole in the side of the barn, halfway in and halfway out.

The barn itself was pretty old, the paint peeling and the wood splintered. Clearly, I wasn’t in any deep shit and neither did I have to care. An accident only known to the rain and moon for tonight. I looked around and was surround by cornstalk, feeling quite uneasy, movie scenes with a maniac living in the stalks entered my mind. I dialed up my go-to taxi man; sadly I knew his number as if it were my own. He supported my late-night drinking contest with myself, because I’d tip him 100 dollars if he backed me up when my wife drilled him about my whereabouts. I walked back to the car my shoes squishing against the sodden concoction of dirt and grass. I was thrilled to torture myself with all the thousand regrets, since no one was going to know I was drunk or how the accident was kind of my fault. I’d rather complain about myself than let others do it. 80% the rain, 20% the phone. The dial tone rung in my ear, beeeeeeep, beeeeep.

“Hello? My man! Another one of those nights, huh?” I could almost hear his grin through the phone. I chuckled, only an arm reach away from the car now and that’s when I saw it. A tiny shoe stuck out from under my car, hard to see at first from the mud and the debris but very much there. Slowly, my eyes dared creep further to a leg. My entire body warmed, as my blood started to boil. Was I imagining or was there some prosthetic leg hiding under my car? It seemed the moon was even stifled upon the examination, the light hid behind a dark cloud. Everything fell silent.

“Hello? Hello man?! You still there..?”