To leave the Garage

Emotional torture. The feeling of never ending freedom, yet confined by the reality intrusive walls surrounding me. The lifeless rake hanging on a peg, an entangled hose beneath it, an endless stock pile of wrenches, sockets, and drivers interfere with the fantasy in which I embark. I peer at the beautiful piece of machinery before me and avoid thinking of the things I should be doing instead. I open the door..., sit down..., and turn the key.

Stability is temporarily returned to me. The stress of life is thrown into the back seat with the remains of last night’s gourmet cuisine, via drive-thru, as the symphonic sounds of heated passion between rubber and asphalt flood my ears. A weeks worth of bottled-up sexual tension is released as I firmly stroke the shifter, tearing through the gearbox like a loin’s first taste of raw flesh. The top is down... and all of my worries... are blown away.

Can dreams of financial freedom be relevant on my journey? No, since the road before me represents my charted paycheck to paycheck routine. Still, like my hands on a well toned body, the tires hold the sharp, unpredictable curves. Sadly, I can relate to the motionless needles, locked in a cage, as the instrument cluster ignores the concept of life. For me the speedometer lives on and I have simply exceeded it’s man made numerical limitations. I will not overheat, I will never lose oil pressure and until the road or the fuel supply ends I will continue to drive like I have somewhere to be,... but I don’t,... I just like how it feels.

Unlock unobtainable speeds by exceeding them. My adrenaline rises with the increasing momentum. A car briefly emerges in the rear view mirror and is gone just as quickly. Was it closer than it appeared? I don’t think so. Even had it been going in the same direction, I would never have allowed the chance to be overtaken. I will not give them the satisfaction. This is my world, and as I pass by the airport, I dream of flight... and I fly.

The occasional leaf invades in my path and is quickly blown away. It is fall and even as the trees turn their backs on the life they once created, I am at peace. Actually, I should be raking this layer of death from my yard, but like the seasons I too have changed lanes, because I am driving and an amazing scene unfolds ahead. In awe I watch the dancing black and orange speckled highway rises before, hovers above, and fall in behind me. The lack of suicide attacks on my car from the endless swarm of butterflies is reassuring, since none of them wanted an unmeaningful end, but why would they... it’s a beautiful day.

Doors without purposes now has invaded my conscience. Why would they... have a screen.... on the interior door... to the garage? So I can... make sure... the Carbon-monoxide tester... works? Once I realize the time and distance is further along that expected, I can not recall the last thing on my mind. Did I figure out how to made light speed possible or how to mutate physical properties in order to magnetize wood? I find it irritating sometimes, not remembering my thoughts, since I’m sure they were important. Knowledge is power and I feel weak, since memories are life’s stories and my pen... has run out of ink.

Of life in general, I haven’t lived enough, and I know that there will come a time when it will no longer be there to experience. The carelessness of others is revealed as I reflect on the vision of the mangled and decaying animal carcass beside the road. Did it know it was going to die today? Was it thinking it was a good day to die? I wonder... Is it a good day to die?

Happiness for me involves the drive. What is for some, a dreaded part of life, is yet another reason for me to live. Reality inevitably returns to me as I push the remote to close the garage door and remove the keys from the ignition. While I make way to the door of the house, my hand glides down the fender of this dream as the other wipes a small spot of dust off the toolbox. If only by shear will the two could connect, I would truly be free. I take one last look before turning off the light and ending this motionless journey. With my hand raised, I ponder the long term psychological effects of waving to the plywood silhouette cutout waving back at me from the corner of the room or that I can imagine that even in his inanimate state, he also dreams of life and that he, like me and this pile of disassembled auto parts, wants to actually be able...


***Read the first word of every paragraph together and then the second word of every paragraph together in reverse***