Inertia

It’s as if I’m lost in a cold, blank space drifting toward the only source of light. The sun: the center of my universe, but I can’t harness the heat because my atmosphere has been destroyed.

  I should’ve come by bus. Shuddering at that thought, I still can’t seem to stop my feet from moving forward. On I trod like an idiot towards my car. I am an idiot, because if the cops spot me or my car . . . And what if they put it together—somehow find out that I went to Eli? I don’t know how they’d possibly make the leap from one to the other since I haven’t seen him in years, but I can’t risk it. It’s stupid to get back into my car and stupid not to.

  Maybe I shouldn’t drag Eli into this but I need his help. My father sent me to him; that has to mean something. Like any order from my dad, there’s a probably a purpose I can’t conceive of—like having me trim the hair in his ears and nose the last time I saw him. Or making me watch the video . . . Images of the last disc razor through my mind and the deep cuts they leave behind throb.

  My pulse pounds stronger with each step I make toward my once coveted silver BMW that seems no more than nuisance now. It looks the same as when I left, but isn’t that what they’d want me to think if they are, in fact, watching me at this very moment?

  The sidewalks are bustling with the noisy student body and I have never felt more exposed and alone. Echoes of people chattering, footsteps popping, music leaking from the windows of passing cars—the noises blend together in a buzz inside my head, converging in electric panic.

  Students head in various directions, more away from the buildings instead of towards them. I take my time strolling along the sidewalk as if I haven’t got a care in the world, trying to spot anyone that might be looking a little too long. The campus is crawling with people, though, and it’s hard to tell.

  On my way here I passed a rundown shop that had dozens of smashed up foreign cars parked out front. That is my destination. Most of the abandoned cars were German which makes it the perfect place for my BMW.

  From the corner down the block, I press the button to unlock the door. The car whistles, the lights flicker. No notable changes in anyone’s behavior, except one girl who looks as she walks past the chirping car. The lack of reaction from bystanders feels like an opening. I run at the window of what may be my only opportunity. The closer I get to the car door, the further I am from caring if anyone notices.

  In the rearview mirror, I spot Eli’s beard inside a green Jetta that’s just rolling from the lot behind the Cahill Center and pull out in front of him to take the lead. Hitting every side street I crossed last night, I have to retrace my turns to find the repair shop I passed.

  In the gravel lot, a red and white ‘closed’ sign dangles from the window of the shop but the tall chain link fence is unlocked. I hop out and quickly open the gate. Rolling through the enclosure I park as far from the street as possible, in between two old Volkswagen Beetles.

  When Eli catches up, he parks just outside the fence at the front of the shop and waits while I grab all I can. The two boxes of keepsakes I packed when I thought I was moving in with Abi are the first things I grab. She must not have noticed them pushed against the very back of the trunk when she took my stuff out the car. Good thing, too. Otherwise the only photograph I have of my dad would’ve been confiscated. Once it’s emptied of all personal items, I whisper an apology to my old friend.

  Eli watches me close the gate from where he’s leaning on the hood of his car. He teases me for getting lost and I play along to avoid having to explain my evasion tactics. Shoving my things into the backseat of Eli’s Jetta, I can’t take my eyes off the lonely sight I’m leaving behind. It’s stupid. It’s just a car. But it’s breaking my heart.

  Glacial air whistles from the vents on the dash, keeping my eyes dry. I concentrate on the floor in front of the passenger seat to keep my gaze averted from the depressing sight of my abandoned beauty, but the acute sting only grows with the distance as we drive off.

  My car was the last piece. The defining part of a life I thought I hated and desperately miss.

  The Accident Experiment