Mad World

All around me are familiar faces 

Worn out places, worn out faces 

Bright and early for their daily races 

Going nowhere, going nowhere 

Their tears are filling up their glasses 

No expression, no expression 

Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow 

No tomorrow, no tomorrow 

And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad 

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had 

I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take 

When people run in circles it's a very very 

Mad world, mad world 

Mad World – Michael Andrews 

Rain fell on the windshield of the rental car as she flew South down I-75.  Her flight had been delayed, which meant that she missed her connection in Atlanta and instead of waiting for a flight in the morning she’d chosen to drive the rest of the way. The rental car was cheaper than the hotel room, and since the airlines had “suffered” during the pandemic there were no comped rooms to be had in their corporate budget.   

The swish of the windshield wipers was keeping time with the music, the windows fogged.  The a/c was dialed down to the coldest temp possible in a half hearted attempt to keep herself awake.  She’d stopped twice to grab caffeine and pee. The clerk at the too brightly lit Marathon station looked back and forth from the five hour energy shot to her very pregnant belly.  She’d just shrugged and bought a lottery ticket as well before walking back out into the rain.  Condemnation came from too many directions these days, and a strange woman surrounded by cigarettes,  lottery tickets, and dirty magazines wasn’t someone she was going to change her mind for.

Visibility was for shit, imperceptible tail lights shocking her awake as people rode their brakes in the storm.  She liked the rental car, gripping its steering wheel tightly as yet another sticker covered SUV pulled in front of her skidding in the rain.  Confederate flag, Trump 2020, Punisher, UF and American flag stickers lined the bumper. The license plate indicated they were a POW.  She wondered, for a moment, how they could reconcile any of those things knowing what they did now.  Her father had been a Marine in Vietnam but had returned to the States a conscientious objector- he always spoke about his “oath,” and she knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach what was happening to the country.  She also knew that it didn’t matter - had he not destroyed his liver with alcohol she would have chosen not to have a relationship with him just like she had with the rest of her family. A brief thought of “if anything happens to you there is no one to care” flitted through her mind and she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of longing. 

The baby shifted, kicking her hard in her bladder again and she placed her left hand on her belly hoping to settle him.  He was what she would live for.  They were going to be enough for each other. The hormones were making her crazy - now that she had someone she would live for she was suddenly overcome with pervasive thoughts of death.  The psyche plays hell with the idea of mortality and responsibility.  Before him she could be selfish and didn’t care what anyone thought of her.  Now she only wanted to do what was best for him. 

Only six more weeks.  With everything going on she had planned for a home birth.  Her midwife, Grace,  had been particularly upset about the trip she was returning from.  Over and over she’d reminded her that she shouldn’t be flying and exposing herself to the world at large in her “condition.”   Grace found it particularly distasteful that the firm she worked for would require her to go in her state, but Grace failed to understand that she had no choice.  She couldn’t lose her job and health insurance or Grace herself wouldn’t be paid, and no matter how environmentally friendly she liked to imagine she was, this child would not be wearing cloth diapers. Babies were expensive and this ones father was married with kids and wouldn’t be helping in any sort of way.  He kicked again, and she smiled. 

The rain began to let up and traffic began to flow more smoothly.  Blue mile signs on the side of the road said she was three miles away from the rest stop.  She decided it was a good idea to stop to pee again and then maybe take a short nap. She really was very tired.  Michael Andrews Mad World came on the radio and she began to cry.  The world was very ugly, but she wanted it to be good for him.  Fuck she hated these damn hormones. 

Grabbing her bag and pulling her mask up to cover her nose and mouth, she shuffled as quickly as she could into the first stall.  She covered the toilet seat with squirts of purell and wiped it down with toilet paper tossing that into the bowl.  She’d planned on being home already, so she didn’t have any more sanitary napkins in her bag and was strategically timing her stops.  The glamour of pregnancy was lost on her as soon as strange hairs and loss of bladder function became a daily occurrence.  Hormones were horrible things. She made a mental note to put more clorox wipes in her bag. 

She heard feet shuffling into the restroom, and saw shadows passing under the door, and when she was done she used more toilet paper to open the latch and flushed the bowl with her foot.  Her swollen ankles were grotesque to her, but when your abdomen protruded like hers did it was times like these that she was simply happy to be nibble enough to see her feet at all.  

Looking at herself in the mirror she realized all of the stall doors were open and that there was no one in the restroom with her. Delirium - add that to the list of annoying consequences of hormones and exhaustion. After washing her hands in the sink she was annoyed to only find an air dryer.  The lights in the restroom flickered, probably from the storms.  

No cars were parked in the lot, only a few semi’s stopped for the night.  Their lights were off, so she assumed the drivers were hunkered down for the night. She’d once told her Mother she wanted to be a long haul trucker - no ties to anyone or anything.  Just her and the open road and getting paid to drive for hours and hours on end.  Her Mother thought it was a horrible idea, having watched one too many episodes of Cops, Lightning lit the sky for a moment and she secretly hoped it would start raining again.  She loved the sound of rain on the roof of a car or tin roof. Angry, but real. She locked the doors when she got in the car, put the steering wheel as high as it would go and reclined the seat. She couldn’t figure out how to get the dome light to dim without cranking the car so she simply turned it off.   

Humming Mad World  she began to drift off to sleep. When she awoke hours later she was overcome with a sense of panic, she’d forgotten to set an alarm and she realized she wouldn’t make it to Tampa until sunrise at least.  She hopped out of the car and headed back into the bathroom.  On her way out she grabbed a mocha and some chips, there was still three hours of road ahead of her.  Unfortunately the rest stop didn’t offer fresh fruit in it’s vending machines. 

Fumbling with the key fob she thought she heard crying coming from the woods behind the rest stop. She thought she could see the outline of something small.  A child or small woman maybe, and for a moment she struggled with the desire to get in the car and drive away, fucking the world at large and ensuring their safety, but then the baby moved and she knew that she would want someone to help him if he were ever in trouble. Slowly she began walking towards the figure which was still whimpering.  The closer she got to it, the further she got from the rental and the tighter her neck muscles became.  She scanned the parking lot one more time and there were no cars.  How did they end up here, she wondered. 

“Hello,” she called out, her voice breaking the silence of the night, “are you alright?  Do you need help?”  

She couldn’t help thinking that the world was too quiet.  This was Florida in the middle of Summer.  Tree frogs should be screaming for the rain to begin again, but there was nothing.  You could have heard a pin drop.  She thought she could hear the sound of her own heart drumming. 

The child was filthy, her hair tangled and matted.  The dress she wore was covered in mud, and her hands and knees were skint up.  She clutched a tattered stuffed bunny in her arms. 

“Where are your parents?” she asked, placing her hand on her hip and lowering herself down to the child’s level.

“They left me,” she cried, “They just left me.  They said they didn’t want me no more and they just left.  I’ve been here all night. I’m so scared.” She lunged for the woman then, wrapping her arms around her neck and shaking as she cried.  Poor thing was terrified.  

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she thought first of calling 9-1-1. She had no service though, and decided it didn’t matter where a deserted child got “turned in,” it would still be a ward of the State.  

“Come on sweety, I’ll get you someplace safe. How long have you been here? What’s your name?”

“Anne,” she answered, sniffling.  

As they neared the car, the parking lots lights began to flicker and finally went out. Opening the back door to let the child in she realized she was going to have to pay quite the fee - there was no way the dirt wasn’t going to be noticeable on the tan cloth interior. 

She grabbed a waiter bottle from her bag, and handed it to the child before starting the car and getting on her way. 

Looking in the rearview mirror she almost felt like weeping herself.  The poor thing had been through so much, and for a moment she wondered how she could have decided to bring a child into this world, on her own.  It was nothing if not a Mad World, and there were people in it that were the worst kind of monsters.  Who left a child at a reststop?  How could anyone do that?

The sun began to rise shortly after the little girl drifted off to sleep, and she adjusted the mirror to look at her and felt an instant shot of terror.  What she thought was dirt was, in fact, blood.  The child was covered in it, and it was caked around the corners of her mouth.  The tattered stuffed bunny was actually a half eaten rabbit, it’s glossed over eyes sending a chill up her spine.  She inhaled deeply and the child’s eyes opened wide, her lips curling into a terrifying jagged smile as she sat up in the backseat and out of the mirrors reflection. 

Eight hours away, just outside of Chattanooga, a truck was parked at a rest stop off of  I-75 North. Inside there was a woman's body, bite marks which would be labeled as coming from some sort of animal covering her neck, upper torso, and arms.  Her tongue was missing.  They found a bloody handprint the size of a young childs on the dashboard, and on the floorboard there was afterbirth, and umbilical cord dangling.  The Mother  laid unidentified in the county morgue officials being unable to locate any next of kin.  The coroner would label the death a result of an animal attack, and though they would find the newborn boys corpse some weeks later in a field behind the rest stop it’s bones gnawed on by some large animal, they would not find a next of kin. 

The rabbit from the cage in the bed of the truck was taken home by one of the patrol women that happened upon the scene.  It was twitchy and nervous and would howl when touched in terror, the most disturbing sound she’d ever heard.