I beat my record today, in the University tunnel – 140Kmph. Wet, warm tires on the hard frozen asphalt. The sound of the screaming engine, as a fairy tale nightmare beast chained to the lean, smooth metal and to me.
I walked through the office door still talking on my hands free, scrolling on the PDA. Between two lines of the business plan, I stopped. I just stopped, as a broken piece of machinery, as an explorer that crosses into a place that doesn’t exist. This is no longer my world. It’s snowing. It can’t snow in my world. Of all the things that can happen, this … this is not fair!
I closed the PDA and the phone and I just stood there, with pain in my chest. I stood there, looking blind ahead, through large flakes flowing in the blizzard. I put my hand through my hair and felt it covered with snow and frowning lightly in the wind. I almost fell to my knees, but I started to walk instead and I figured that if there was anything to cry for, then all was fine because no one would tell the difference between tears and melting snow flakes. Half way to the car I looked up and I saw this little girl in a white night gown bent on the window, just looking at the snow. Looking at me. Why was she there – why then, and for the few seconds when I would pass by and look up? Can anyone tell me why? No, you can’t. You would run away in shock if you saw my eyes then. Like two empty shells, filled with snow, the fabric of nightmares and cheap horror movies.
I ran to the car and dried my hair inside. I turned up the volume on the house station and I drove to the tunnel entrance. There, I stopped the music, I stopped the heater and the wipers. I wanted to hear just the engine. I zigzagged past the two cars in front and I hit the clutch at 5500RPM, cutting through the curves.
I’ve never heard the engine scream so in tune with me. I don’t know what it said. But hey – I don’t know what the snow said. I don’t know what the little angel said. I don’t know what I said each time I woke from a bad dream. Or each time I left a beautiful dream behind.
When I hit the breaks at the exit from the tunnel, I finally felt some tears, as I reached my hand through the window and grasped some cold pieces of the blizzard.
Thank you. Some day, I’ll tell my child to look out to the walkers in the snow and be their angels. Some day, I’ll drive with a heart full of joy and an arm full of flowers, through the snowing night and give divine signs to lovers. Some day.