Day Trip

Day Trip

“Change the song; it’s making me weep.”

“Everything makes you weep, Eugene.  This is a good song and I want to listen to it, and there’s nothing about it to make a grown man weep.”

“Nothing about it, Harold?  Have you been listening to it?  Are you deaf?  Dancing in clubs, consuming alcohol, threats of violence, sex with multiple partners!  Many of whom the “artist” has just met, I’m sure.  This song is the clearest sign of the apocalypse yet.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Eugene, we’re not going far, if you want to change the song, then change it.”

“Excuse me?  I’m to change it?  Are you blind?  I’m at the wheel of an automobile.  How am I to both work the radio and maneuver these dangerous highways where death may strike at any moment?  Half the people on this road are speeding with one hand on the wheel and the other on a bottle of gin.  Undoubtedly, they too are blasting this song at levels egregious enough to shake a car off of its axis.  I couldn’t possibly take my eyes off the road or my hands off the wheel if we are to survive this journey.  I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“Then don’t talk to me, Eugene, please, I could really do without the talking.”  Harold switched off the radio and settled his head against the window, closing his eyes.

“Harold, are you going to sleep?”

“Stop talking, Eugene.”

“You will not sleep until we pull into a rest stop.  What if one of those outrageously mad truck drivers decides to overtake me on the right?  I’ll need a spotter to avoid the impending collision that would certainly result in this midsize compact, which I doubt has side airbags, being demolished by the monstrosity.  You know all truck drivers use cocaine, don’t you?  I saw a report on it.”

“We’re not going to pull into any rest stops, what are you talking about?  We’re going less than an hour out of the city.”  Harold raised his head from the window, took out his cellphone and began to type.”

“How dare you engage that gadget in the middle of a conversation!  Going to sleep would be less of a violation.  I hope you don’t intend on using that when you take over the wheel?  It’s people like you that cause accidents on these lawless roads.  The Wild West lives on in the guise of civilized transportation.”

“I’m not even driving, Eugene!  You didn’t want me to sleep, so I’m not sleeping, now you don’t want me to use my phone?  What is wrong with you?”

“I should ask you the same thing!  Who have you become?  The leader of the Nihilist Party?”

“Will you just look out for the sign?  It’s Exit 4A, have you been watching the signs?”

“And take my eyes off the road?  Not likely.  Had you not been so hung over, you would have watched for the exit instead of sleeping like a pauper against the window.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.  I would have been, but you got in the way of that.”

“Ha!  Another vagabond blaming his failures on others.”

“There’s the exit right there!”

“Where, you imprudent excuse for a guide”

“Read the sign!”

“My eyes are on the road!” Eugene screamed.  He glanced up toward the sign but before seeing anything, panicked and swerved into the fast lane.  A small sedan flying up that lane slammed on the horn and brakes just short of the midsize compact and swerved onto the rumble strip.  “AHHHHHH,” screamed Eugene.

“Get the hell back in your lane!” Harold ordered.

“I knew this would happen, Harold!”  Eugene had removed his hands from the wheel altogether and the car was drifting further left, over the rumble strip and towards the median.  Harold grabbed the wheel and jerked the car back onto the road and then across to the far right lane and yelled, “This is our exit, BRAKE goddamnit!”

Eugene slammed on the brake and brought the car to a complete halt leaving a lengthy tire mark on the highway.  Cars screeched behind him, the sound of their horns was deafening.  “DRIVE, you fool!  It’s an exit, you can’t stop here!”  Eugene floored the gas pedal as Harold steered them down the exit ramp.

“You see what I told you, Harold?  I told you this would happen.”

Shut up and take the wheel, and ease off the gas, we’re exiting for Christ’s sake.”  Eugene resumed control of the wheel and at the end of the exit was a stoplight where a sign pointed left to Norwood Retirement and Assisted Living Home.

“Make a left.  I’m driving us home, by the way.”

“The only place you’re driving us is into Beelzebub’s arms you hedonist trout!”

“Park over here, you idiot.”

Eugene and Harold walked into Norwood and met with the receptionist. 

“Hi, we’re here to see Wallace Carter,” Harold said as Eugene inspected the counter for dust.

“How often is this place cleaned?”  He asked the receptionist.

“Never mind him,” Harold said.

“Are you family?” asked the receptionist.

“Yes,” said Harold, “We’re his sons.”

“Ok, well just sign in here, (she pointed) he’s on the fifth floor.  Room 507.”

“Thank you,” said Harold.

“This place is more likely to kill a man than heal him,” said Eugene pumping Purell into his palms from a dispenser near the elevator, “Thank God they at least have hand sanitizer.”

“Will you shut up, Eugene?  Really.  I need for you to shut up.”

“I will not be silenced.  We nearly lost our lives because of you, who would take care of our poor father then?”

“The same people who are doing it now, you idiot.”

They stepped onto the elevator, “Do you honestly trust these “nurses,” Harold?  Do you know that half of them raid the medicine cabinets in a place like this?  I saw a report on it.”