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An Easy Ride (2)
Creative
 Created on 1-24-08
 Views(135)
 Story Rating G
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"Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel, boy"
I turn the knob, not just any knob, the knob for the radio, the radio in the car, the car driving on the road, the car driving on the road in the town, the car driving on the road in the town and exiting the city, the car driving on the road in the town and exiting the city onto the highway back to where the train whistles blow and we rush beside the blowing, blowing, blowing, gone.
With The Doors playing on the stereo it's pretty easy to get lost in daydreams as she constantly snaps at me to regain control of the wheel about to drive off the side of the road. "Don't You Love Her Madly?" plays from the L.A Woman album and I turn to her, leaning on her shoulder, "Don't you love her ways? Tell me what you say? Don't you love her as she's walking out the door? Like she did one thousand times before."
"I'd never walk out on you if we make it out of here alive" she cried.
It's hard to keep your eyes on the road and your hand upon the wheel when a beautiful stranger asks for a ride on an otherwise normally lonesome night left to dwell and think the thoughts you've thought before, clarity? Bah! I say. Clarity-shamingles, it tingles down my spine and out the window, only to return covered in snow and asking for a warm book and a nice cold blanket as it snuggles up against my brain and shows me what was already known.
I laugh and open the drivers window, sticking my head out to see the bright crescent moon above our heads, the line on the highway is clear and leaves us to swirl from side to side like rushing waves and none but the police cruisers will stop us. Providing they don't find the hundred dozen or so grams of marijuana in the back trunk, I'll have to shove it up her balloon in order to hide it.
She takes out a Camel Mellow cigarette and offers one. It's been two months since I last took a smoke: Heart-attack and stroke after smoking a 20-pack in one day. A cold, blue day that left Suicide outside my window, asking to come in. Annoying pest, that one is. I can never seem to shake him, no matter how many times I throw beer bottles and busted ash-trays at his face, he always comes back asking for more; persistence to admire.
"Do you fear death?" I ask with a calm look on my face, Death after all was Suicide's best friend, and any friend of Suicide is a friend of mine.
Death was the type of guy you'd love to be if you could, it's difficult to not envy the lucky bastard: Traveling the world, city to city, meeting lots of new and exciting faces unexpectedly and lending a shoulder for them when they need, providing a good time daily, the greatest time ever with the most exhilarating thrill to be had night by night. Death and I met one day when I was walking down a hill in my hometown and a Pitbull jumped out of a speeding white car's window, nearly hitting me at an intersection, and the pitbull charged right for me, ready to bite my head clean off because I'm a night-wanderer, and it had to protect it's street from night wanderers. Maybe I resembled the owners that beat it.
Staring the dog down in the face to remain calm is always a struggle, especially when the barks are enough to shatter ear-drums and your first instinct is to run, run like hell, and risk getting a chunk of your ass ripped off in the process.
The owner in the white car jumped out and grabbed the pitbull before it could attack and I stood laughing in it's face the entire time it was gearing towards me, the owner introduced itself as Death, and asked why I hadn't ran.
"If it's my time, it's my time. I don't want to die a painful death, but it'd be the first physical true pain I'd ever know, and I'd love to feel it before my soul wanders far and discovers what the human brain cannot." He apologized and offered me a ride in his car, as he sped out of the town and onto the freeway leading to the next biggest city.
Two years later, he still holds a face on my smile, keeping me warm during the cold freezing night, and every Earth-killing bacterial egotistical waste with metal-crap or speaker-busting rap that drives infront of my direction and races towards my stance, swirling to either the left or right side of the streets before colliding, those instances reminds me of the night Death saved my life.
The cigarette in her mouth flapped around while she said, "I await it like a peaceful dream, I'm terrified of not existing, though. The thought that my mind will be no longer..My body never to move again, my breath no longer blowing smoke and rings. Inexistence is my enemy." in a bit of a stutter as I had to focus to understand her pronunciation.
Thinking for a while, we share a smile with each other.
I look to the road and close my eyes for a moment, saying that Death' mother Inexistence isn't such a bad woman, re-assuring her that after entering Death's house there is nothing and everything, no labels, no feelings, and you are in an eternal sleep never to wake up.
Which I then followed by describing to her Death's mansion with red-velvet staircases and a portrait of a Walrus as a Chandelier.
As I opened my eyes, she held my hand once again, "Is Inexistence beautiful?"
I tightened my grip around her, bringing her hand to my lap this time,
"I'll show you."
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