Drowning

Rain slides down in soft, uneven lines, blurring the world beyond the glass into streaks of color. Streetlights bend and curve to the car. The reflections of others travel like glares. Bright and vibrant then...gone. I sit still, watching a moment I have seen before, the next dissolving against the wind. The sound of rain is constant, patient. It does not ask where I am going. It only reminds me that this too, will pass.

The car moves the same as it always had. Trees will gather at the edge of the window until the world beyond is painted green. A turn comes, familiar in a way that doesn’t require memory. I've lost count how many times I've seen this. A street lamp comes and goes, each one softly lighting the interior until it's gone.

The rain drips down the window– parting the veil of condensation. A reflection dances in the mirror– one that wasn't there moments ago. Not sudden– just exactly where it's meant to be. Their hands resting on the door, loose, unguarded. Their head moves as if speaking to another. The reflection breaks as the rain thickens, smearing across the window.

A familiar bend comes again, curving left towards the mountain like it always does. I watch it approach without fixing my posture, letting it come. The rain thickens and thins, letting this moment remain undecided. For a moment, the streetlight ahead flickers– then suddenly its light is in the rear view mirror.

My body coils as rain slides down the window. The car shakes slightly as shadows sweep across the front seats. Reflections of people color the glass in a moment too fragmented to grasp. Their voices blend in with the pattering rain, saying something small, something unnecessary.Yet it remains wholly theirs. Laughter fills the car with warmth– yet it cannot escape the sound of rain.

Later–though later means very little here–they shift in their seats, adjusting their collar on their coat as if the temperature changed. I remember this gesture. Not when it happened but in the times I watched–how it all morphed together.

The car begins to slow. Not abruptly–just enough to notice. The steady hums of the road deepens, stretching into something heavier. The space between street lamps grows further and further away. I wait for something to happen, for another fleeting color. It does not. The rain thickens against the glass. A veil of condensation appears on the window again. The car sways into a turn I recognize too well. The speed returns. My body uncoils and relaxes back into the seat. The moment never arrives.

I feel it before I see it– the weight in the seat sinking. The thrash of movement beside me yields no explanation. Only just the fragment of existence. The sound of voices fill the car in a silent harmony, luring those willing to listen. The rain thins into mist. The street lamp passes over twice before the rain begins to thicken.

The car follows the familiar bend of the road. The rain flows in uneven lines, chasing the inevitability. My eyes lie heavy– waiting for relief that will never come. The world outside blurs as droplets chase after the fleeting idea. I no longer look for differences. No such imperfections linger here. The reflections settle in the glass as if they were never disturbed. The rain continues a steady rhythm against the car. Whatever comes next has already happened one too many times.

Warm air fills the car. The carefully painted condensation dissipates- clearing the few to the outside world. I exhale– feeling the familiar bend coming already. The car begins to slow in small increments. My body coils as the road begins to stretch.

Fog cloaks the window as a hand seems to wipe it away. Those brown eyes peer into my own little world. Droplets run down the window, erasing what I had left.

The bend comes again. The lamps pass over twice over.

Like a silent chime- the glass cracks. It spreads like lightning stopped in time. But the rain carries on, dripping to its own ideals. The drops run down the door panel leaving a trail for many to follow.

The bend comes again but the lamp doesn't pass over.

The crack remains despite everything. The water still trickles in slow rivers, flowing whatever way it decides. Lights pass over the car before appearing beside us. Another car passes by before becoming enveloped in that careful mist beyond the bend.

Bend. Lights.

The sound of trickling water drowns out the sound of rain. The small stream of water flows all the way down to the puddle now cradling my ankles. But eyes do not linger a moment longer. Eyes of brown paint pictures in the fractures of glass. Searching for something that isn't there.

Another crack, before the bend, before the lights.

I wait for it, the familiar sway of the car. The warm lights that fill the car only before disappearing. But it never comes. My brows furrow as the car continues straight. The exit-- the bend passes us by. The car continues straight.

My body jolts forward as the car continues into the trees. Branches drag against the body. The colors of green surround the car. Rain bangs against the car and I see it. The cliff side– the endless color of blue.

The car speeds forward towards the edge. But my body doesn't tense up for the impact. Not as the car hits the water's surface and blue is all I see. Not when the windows crack and water seeps through.

I sit back in my seat, waiting, watching. Water floods in, soaking the car. Soon the metal begins to snap, crushing in. The seats coil and the water rises higher and higher. The empty blue abyss is the only calm.

I remain even as the water rises to my waist. The car mangles together, slowly collapsing inwards. All that remains is the door handle, waiting.

My fingers trace over the door panel. the water pouring in from the glass. No shadows dance in the corners. Only the flooding of water.

The water stops.

The shades of blue shift to green. The rain streaks in uneven lines against the curve of the window. But the water still remains. The cracks still cascade in the windows. But the trees still pass by in streaks.

The reflections no longer break into fractures of memories. They remain right where they were meant to be. Gone. The car sways and the water stirs as the familiar bend comes once again.

The warm yellow lights greet the car again only for it to repeat again.

The rain begins to thin into a drizzle. The window wipers turn on- clearing the view onto the road. Nothing exists beyond the trees and the road. Those few pockets of yellow illuminate the fog.

The headlights switch to the low beams as the fog grows thick. The setting sun rays part through the cracks of the window. The water begins to rise as the car nears the destination.

The car continues past the street lamps. The sky grows darker at every passing second. My body grows heavier and heavier as the water nears my chest.

Alone. No shadows stir, no distant warm memories come running back. Just the cold stillness that still lingers in the car.

Mist covers the car in an endless sea of grey. The only source of movement is the air coming from the cracks of the windows. Yet I feel it– not suddenly–but progressively the car is slowing.

Warm light breaks through the fog. The grey grows dimmer and darker. The shadows of trees form once again. The humming of the engine sends stillness down my veins.

Trickles of green begin to bloom. The rain drizzles hazily against the window once again. Through the windshield-- the fog grows dimmer. A single street lamp illuminates the road.

The car begins to slow until it's rolling evermore slowly. The cold bitter water caresses my cheek. My elbow finds its way to the door panel, and my head leans against the seat.

The warm light floods in through the windows, and the water rises more. My head submerges completely as the car rolls to a stop. I do not move– my hands do not linger in the floating abyss of the car.

I still. The car’s humming engine is the only noise. The only light is the single street lamp. I do not thrash when I feel myself getting desperate for the air no longer there.

My hand moves to the handle of the door, grasping the worn plastic. It feels familiar– an old familiar– like the bend of the road so long ago.

I pull the handle and open the door.

There is no rushing water leaving the car. No coldness. Only sticky humidity that lingers after a long rain. My foot steps out of the car– right next to the curly hair draped against the rough rocky road.

My gaze does not linger on her body. Only the cracks in the window. How my reflection shows what my hands have done. The soft drizzle of rain disrupts the careful shadows.

I step out into the humidity. Taking in a warm breath of air. I continue walking down the road.