Restless

Why am I running? I think of this as I pack what little belongings I have into my father's old suitcase. What am I running from? I have lived like this since the day he passed, moving from one place to another, making meaningless relationships, putting on a fake smile, never letting anyone get too close. I close the old suitcase, the hinges protesting loudly as I do. The brown faded leather has started to rip in some spots, and one of the latches is broken, but this is the one thing I have left from home, and I refuse to get rid of it. The suitcase is my only connection, the only thing that proves my humanity. My whole life fits in this old, tattered box. I run my fingers across the brass plate above the handle, feeling my father's name etched beneath my fingers. I feel tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes, and quickly wipe them away. I take one last look at my small studio, place the key on the counter, and walk out the door. The Texas sun beats down on me as I close my eyes, allowing them to adjust. Days like this, you don't just feel the heat; it punches you in the face as soon as you step outside.

“This time I'm going somewhere colder,” I mutter under my breath as I open the car door with the hem of my shirt to avoid burning my hand on the blazing hot handle. I have been here for two years now, two years too long if I'm being honest. As I pull down the driveway, I try to remember what made me want to move to this nowhere town, but I can't. I never can. Before this, it was New York; before that, Tennessee; the list goes on. Maybe I’m just a restless soul, but I know it's more than that. My Father passed away when I was 17 from a heart attack. I'm 26 now, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air with the image of his purple, lifeless face fresh in my mind. My father was the most selfless person I have ever known. No matter what, he always put his family first. My parents divorced when I was young, and from the little I remember from that time, it was not pretty, but my father never let it show. He always made sure I knew he was there for me; he always showed the kind of unconditional love only a parent can display, no matter how badly I screwed up.

The dotted yellow lines blink past as I cruise down the two-lane highway. A foul, dead smell fills the car as I fly past a deer that must have forgotten to look both ways before crossing, baking in the Texas heat. Ahead, I see a sign that reareadingo Colorado and tak, soeIe exit. I never know where I'm going, I just go wherever feels right, constantly on a search for….for what? Once again, I don't know. My Father always had an answer for everything, a quality I both hated and loved about him. In high school, I fell in with a pretty bad crowd, and believe me, my dad had an answer for that, too. He put me to work every day after school, pulling weeds, cleaning, mowing the lawn, and raking leaves. I’m sure he thought this would keep me out of trouble, but all it did was make me resent him. My father worked nights, and as soon as he left, so did I. One night, a week before the heart attack, I came home from one of my late-night excursions to find his car in the driveway and the lights on in the house.

‘No reason to sneak in through my window now, I guess.’ I remember thinking to myself as I began walking up the front steps to open the door. I found him at the Kitchen table, with a bottle of whisky, sitting on the table, half empty, in front of him. This had surprised me then. I had seen my father drink before, but never like this. He looked at me, and I could see the fury in his eyes.

“Where the hell were you?” He growled at me. As I approached the kitchen table, I could smell the liquor on his breath.

“None of your business,” I shot back, feeling the anger begin to bubble up inside of me.

“You were with those kids again, weren't you?” He barked at me, his voice filling the small kitchen.

“So what if I was? As I said, it's none of your fucking business.” I glared at him, and he glared back

“You sound just like your mother,” He said, and before I could even think, I saw myself swinging, felt my fist connect with his jaw and watched as his head jerked back. He had never talked to me like that before. And I was just as surprised as he was. When he looked back at me, I saw his eyes had softened. I saw the look of realisation wash over his face. I heard him begin to apologise, but by then it was too late, I had already stormed down the hall and slammed the door to my room, locking myself inside. This was the last conversation I had with him, and a week later, he was gone forever. I think about this as I drive under the vast Texas night sky, I feel tears trying to push their way through, and reach up to wipe them away. I remove my arm just in time to see the car in the oncoming lane smash into the car in front of me and watch as the front end of my car slams into them both… then black.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was a painful stabbing feeling in my head. I reach up to rub my forehead, as if that could make it feel better, and when I pull my hand back, it's covered in some kind of dark red slime.

“I…I'm bleeding?” I say out loud to myself. Just then, I remember the car in the incoming lane slowly crossing over the double yellow line, the sound of a horn just before it collided with the car in front of me. I look up out of the windshield, now cracked with glass everywhere, to see both cars' front ends almost fused together. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I do. Luckily, my door can still open. My car had slammed into the back of the car in front of me, and I must have braked just before the collision because my car seems to have bounced off the rear and ended up on the shoulder. The front end totalled, but other than the massive headache and the cut on my forehead, I feel fine. Somewhere to my left, I hear a wet coughing noise,

“H..h..hello?” I hear somebody call softly, followed by another coughing fit, as if they are fighting for air. I look over at the mangled cars realizing I was not the only one in this accident. I run over to the mangled piles of metal that somewhat resemble the cars they were just a few minutes ago. As I approach the driver's side door of the car that was in front of me, I am met with a haunting image. The man who was in the oncoming car had been thrown from the driver's seat and out the windshield, and he was now sandwiched between both of the cars. He was dead. Frozen in place, I could not look away from the bloody mess in front of me. His head had been smashed into the other vehicle's windshield, and I could see yellow-grey chunks falling from the disfigured shape of what used to be his head. His neck was bleeding profusely, painting the window a dark crimson. Once again, I hear the wet coughing sound, and breaking out of this horrible trance, I turn my head to see a man who looks to be in his 50s stuck in the driver's seat of the other car. The man coughed, and I could see the specks of blood fly out of his mouth among the spittle. Unlike my car, this man's door is crumpled up too much to be able to open. I run over to him, frantically grabbing my phone out of my pocket.

“Sir, stay with me. I'm calling for help.” I say to him as I press the button to turn my phone on. Nothing. I tried again, at first not understanding. It's dead, out of all the times for this to happen, my phone is dead.

“Fuck!” I yell out loud on the verge of panicking, then I hear a soft, breathless voice speak.

“Son…” He takes a deep, laboured breath, sounding as if someone were standing on his chest, “I'm…I'm not going to make it.”

“No your going to be ok, I just need to find-”

“Listen to me…please” The man says in a soft voice that reminded me of my father. I look at him more closely now. Behind the door, I see the cause of the coughing and the blood. His entire lower body has been crushed. The front end of the car folded back on itself, shoving the steering wheel into his chest, crushing his ribs and puncturing his lungs. Blood leaked from his chest and mouth every time he tried to take a breath.

“Sir, you need to save your energy until the-” he cut me off again.

“Please, I am going to die today….” deep wet breath, “I have something to say to my son…. I need you to….. pass it on for me.” I feel goosebumps on the back of my neck as he says this. I kneel so I can look him in the eyes.

“Ok,” I say with a breathless voice.

“Thank you,” More wet coughs, “ I need you to tell him, I'm sorry. I know…. I know I haven't been the perfect father…. But I always loved him.” He begins to cough harshly, and I wince seeing the pain on his face as he does.

“Sir, please, you need to-”

“No, I need to say this,” He takes a long, harsh breath “T…tell him I love him and that…It's ok to be lost… It's a part of life…. Sometimes you never know where life will take you… tell him to always stick to his morals and be himself, and he may not know who that is right now, but he will….” This time, when he coughs, a shower of blood rains from his mouth, spraying all over what used to be the dash. “ Tell him, don't be afraid of change, life is full of it, and along the way, there will be hard times, good times, and sad ones. Tell him not to let the past affect his future, tell him to make good friends, find a beautiful woman and to always treat her right…. Don't be scared of commitment, and when the time comes….” his voice had gotten much quieter at this point, almost to a whisper, “ Well, I guess he will figure that out himself…. Most of all, always remember that I’m proud of him, no matter what…..” Before he could finish, I watched as the last breath of air escaped his mouth. I watch as the life leaves his eyes. I didn't need him to finish, though. I knew what he was going to say. I hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance. I look up to the starry night sky and finish his sentence for him.

“I will always love you, no matter what,” I say to the stars with tears rolling down my face, and this time I do not attempt to wipe them away.