I never want to go to that dark place in my mind,
The place where death waits for me.
Death scares me.
But like it and taxes,
The flood comes for us all, eventually.
It's 3 o' clock in the morning; I'm sitting in the car, a 98' Firebird convertible, glowing a brilliant red and gold beneath the shine of a lone streetlight. There is a small, folded envelope taped to the dash. It's 3 o' clock in the morning. I stare with a deadly gaze towards the road I am parked on the side of, the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, at the 2-mile marker. It's 3 o' clock in the morning. Loud music blasts through the interior of the car. I believe in the sound of the music pumping through my mind, and I can feel the adrenaline when I slam my foot on the gas as the drums and guitar of the song roar to thunderous life. It's 3 o' clock in the morning.
I want to be taken by the sound. I want to see paradise.
The tires scream into the quiet New York night as they spin against the asphalt, and the car speeds down the highway and out of the gaze of that streetlight.
Thirty miles per hour.
Forty miles per hour.
I can feel the beat of my heart traveling through my body and into the steering wheel as the speedometer quickly ticks up.
Fifty miles per hour.
Sixty miles per hour.
Life came and hit me like a speeding bus, and it made me lose who I thought I was. Tonight was my time to speed faster than it to a place where I could outrun it.
Sixty-five miles per hour.
Seventy miles per hour.
It feels good to be running from the devil.
The faces and portraits spray painted onto the New York cityscape begin to melt into the faces of those I've known before. I remember all of the faces that surround me when I'm sad and the bodies that I have supposedly saved from the same cold, gripping sadness.
I am the light.
A lone truck whizzes as I speed down the highway, beeping for a few seconds as it passes my window, rhythmic, steady, ephemeral. I remember the hospital, the same rhythmic, steady beeping; it too is fleeting, just like the truck, then gone forever, a story that ends all the same.
I am in the darkness.
I only realized now that I had been going in circles, driving up and down the highway, only getting off to change lanes and repeating the process over and over again. I use the slower turns on the side roads to catch my breath, holding it all the way down the stretch of highway. Every run down the asphalt only gets faster and faster as my foot weighs more against the gas pedal.
Seventy-five miles per hour.
Eighty miles per hour.
The mile markers blur as I fly by them, the glow from the streetlights mixing in my eyes.
Eighty-five miles per hour.
I remember the broken knuckles and bloody wounds, the bad influences and evil friends who hurt me, and the sharp blades and deadly barrels that pushed me to the edge of the cliff. I recovered.
I am a survivor.
I remember the vicious lies and mockery, the nasty names and swears, the baseless accusations from those who claimed to love me, and how it changed me so. I remember saying, "After you, I don't know what I believe in." Even now, I don't know what I believe in.
I am fragile.
The thoughts quickly begin to flood my mind, but I can repel them just as fast, just for tonight. I keep driving.
Ninety miles per hour.
The road is empty; I am alone here, with only the thoughts in my head riding shotgun with me. The sound around me, the rumbling of the engine and the bass of the music begins to meld together into white noise, and I can feel my senses start to slip away as the manic memories come back, stronger, louder.
I remember the kind words and cheers of those who looked up to me, the laughter of those who wanted to be like me, and the joy of making people happy and cheerful. The smiles that kept me going all these years.
I am the star.
I remember the veil that I so often hide behind, the hateful words and threats of those who figured it out, the fate of those who got too close to me. I remember the wake of betrayed minds and broken hearts that I've left behind, forever cursing my name, still following me to this day.
I am the boogeyman.
I keep driving, focusing on the road while swatting the thoughts away from my mind as best I can; soon enough, the sky on the horizon begins to turn a warm, deep orange. I want to slow down, but the darkness creeping up on me prevents me. My hands start to shake on the steering wheel as my heavy heart falls apart. The sun finally rises into the sky, shining a holy ray of light into my eyes. Almost immediately, my eyes are taken by the radiance, and I am overpowered by the bright white light, losing my senses again and being transported to the place where I want to be.
I am taken by the light, and I can, for just a moment, see paradise.
When I return to the earth, I pull off the highway for the last time, taking the side street down to a small corner store, where I buy a drink.
"Are you ok?" the man at the counter asked, seeing my bloodshot, teary eyes.
"No, I'm not," I replied to him.
I returned to the car to continue driving, stopping on a small bridge overlooking the Hudson River. A gentle breeze blew over me as I stood on the edge of the bridge, taking occasional sips of my drink and adjusting my sunglasses to ensure my tired eyes were not revealed to the world.
After a while, I finish my drink and slowly return to the car, where the small, folded envelope sits taped to the dash, glowing in the new day's sunlight. I hesitate for a moment and then open it. A Polaroid photo spills out into my hands; in it, a thin, smiling girl with long, bright blue hair stands with a broad smile on her face, holding up a peace sign in her hand as I drape my arm around her. At that moment, I finally fell apart, reduced to tears and inconsolable shaking there on that bridge over the Hudson River.
I am sorry.
I'll see you in paradise.