Carried Away

Even beneath the mountain of clothes I’m buried under, my body is shaking violently, my anxiety slowly climbing until I’m on the verge of tears. That’s when the thoughts sneak in. The bad ones. There’s so much I haven’t done. So much I haven’t seen. Too much I haven’t accomplished yet. I’m usually really good at getting myself out of trouble, but there is a very real chance I may not come out ahead this time and all those boxes I haven’t checked yet taunt me. What the hell have I been doing with my time?

“God, if you’re listening, I have a list…you there, buddy?” Fuck, I feel alone. My vision gets blurry as tears pool in the corner of my eyes. “Okay, here it is if you’re interested…I would like to meet my niece or nephew. You can’t deny me that.” The thought of never seeing Jackie again has me crying so hard my eyes hurt, and it’s so cold the tears sting. “Also, I would like to fall in love just once…and Ben doesn’t count. Fucking hell, this is not how my story ends! Sorry, I apologize for the salty language but I’m cold and you know how much I hate the cold…”

I can’t die like this, frozen, in the middle of nowhere, unemployed and broke.

“A Pulitzer would be nice. I’m not saying it’s a must, more like a wish if you’re in a generous mood tonight.”

It’s so dark that if I wasn’t exhausted from shaking I would be hyperventilating. As it stands my lungs burn from the frigid air. Shallow breaths are all I can tolerate. My eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. I’m tired, so tired of shaking, of feeling cold and anxious, of thinking about all the things I’ll miss out on.

I send my father and Nan a mental I love you. I tell Jackie that she’s the best big sister ever, even if it’s that bitch’s fault that I’m in this mess. Then I tell her I don’t want her to blame herself.

And the last thought that stays with me as I drift away. Not something deep and meaningful, nothing noble. All I can think is…fucking Delores was right.

The sound of scratching wakes me from a perfectly good dream in which I’m a human popsicle and Ben is licking me. It annoys me; that I’m being awoken. It’s the only thing giving me relief from the pain in my head and the cold making my skin simultaneously hypersensitive and numb.

My eyes slowly blink open to an endless void. I can’t see a thing. Which means I’m deceased––or on my way there. It certainly seems like it. I’m no longer shaking, and my body is dead weight. I don’t even try to move because I’m afraid I won’t be able to.

The noise gets louder.

Someone is outside the car, I surmise with what little ability to think straight I still possess. Suddenly, the windows on the side of the car I’m facing clear of snow and I can make out the faint outline of a person. By the looks of it, it’s a him and he’s large. The big guy is moving his arms and hands back and forth, quickly clearing snow off the Cube as more falls at an alarming rate.

This is interesting, I think to myself. I wonder what happens next. That’s about it though. I’m too tired to care or hold a thought in my head for longer than a second. It’s more an amusing distraction, an action movie I’m watching from afar.

The man furiously working to clear the snow looks to be wrapped in a rainbow flag. Huh, that’s interesting. With snow clinging to his head and beard, he reminds me of Santa. Also very interesting.

Big gay Santa’s got a really harsh look on his face, his brow furrowed deeply as he works. Maybe it’s more horror movie than action. If he says, “Here’s Johnny,” when he finally gets the door open, I’ll know I’m officially dead.

Gay Santa gets aggressive with the Cube and the car starts rocking. He seems to be upset that he can’t get the door open, and I’m no help. I can’t move. It’s just too much of an effort to pick up my head. Reaching over to hit the Unlock button would require a crane and I don’t have one handy right now. I’m rooting for him, though. Somewhere in the detached part of my brain that has split from reality, I hope he saves me. Mentally and morally, big gay Santa has all my support.

That’s when things escalate. He stops pulling on the door long enough to draw back his elbow and crash it into the window. It shatters loudly. Good thing I’m dead because I can’t afford to pay for that.

“Hey! Hey, you awake?” he says poking his big white head in the dark cab. His voice is raspy. Not your typical rasp, like when your throat is dry. That’s not what this is. This guy sounds like he gargles with broken glass and battery acid on the regular. Weird that I would think that while I’m deceased but this is where we’re at.