Potholes and A-holes in Crashville

I knew I had made it home as soon as I merged onto I-24 East. I ran through a minefield of potholes, deep and wide, the dilapidated road scraping and banging against the bottom of my car, and then an abrupt stop as traffic came to an infuriating standstill, an insulting barrier to my way home. I-24, the bane of my existence. It’s never clear, even on a Sunday evening. There’s constant construction, but never any improvement.  I hate that damn highway.

They say Nashvillians are a congenial people, but we sure as shit can’t drive. The roads are bad enough, but the people driving on those roads are worse. Potholes are somewhat beneficial since they act as speed bumps, yet, even those don’t have much effect. They drive as if they’re in well-armored, souped-up Humvees.  

I was for sure that’s what was impeding my progress this time as well. Bumper to bumper because some moron had lost control and flipped his car, probably weaving in and out of traffic. Now, these days, it’s not good enough to be in the slow lane. They push you out of the slow lane as if you were cramming up the fast lane. Or maybe it was a crotch-rocket splashed all over the side of a big rig because some dumb punk tried to squeeze in between two 18-wheelers. I imagined all kinds of scenarios, every one of them angering me to no end. I was tired and irritable, a ten-hour drive and too many energy drinks. I was full of piss and caffeine, not at all in the mood to sit in traffic whiffing exhaust and burnt rubber.

I was stuck behind an SUV with a sticker of Jesus’s head on one side of the window and Our Lady of Guadalupe on the other. Somewhere trapped in this sea of vehicles were at least three screeching banshees, teenaged-owned cars equipped with specialty pipes made to backfire, crackle, and explode. My GPS showed a bold red line from the bottom to the top of the screen, less than twenty miles from home but more than an hour to go. There was a competition between the three, for our entertainment, to see who could make their exhaust more obnoxious. More than thirty minutes and I was bound to lose my mind.

The line began to move, the swell inched forward. It was enough space for the car behind me to pull around on the shoulder of the road and jump in front of me. It was an asinine move that gave him hardly any more advantage than he already had. I felt blood rush to my head. I grinded my teeth and clinched the steering wheel as if to crush it with my bare hands.

“You stupid motherfucker!!” I yelled, and not just once, but over and over again, banging my fists against the steering wheel as I did so.

Pipes backfired, horns honked, brakes squealed, drivers cussed. Mayhem enveloped the highway. The GPS now mockingly flashed two more hours until I would get home. Time was going backwards, and I wasn’t making any headway. The car in front of me darted into the left lane. Appreciative of the driver’s foray into futility, I quickly resumed my position behind the SUV. Jesus looked into heaven, oblivious to the world around, but Mary looked frustrated, forced to stare down, to look at the fullness of insanity.

Traffic began to roll forward. My car dipped forward as it fell into yet another pothole. I cringed at the sound of the bottom of my car scraping against the road.

“Fuck you!” I yelled.

I heard a muffled “Fuck you” in another car beside me and a childish chuckle. A young boy was laughing into his hands. His mother reached back and slapped him across the head.

“Roll up that window,” she demanded, as she gave me a chiding glance. Mary didn’t seem too pleased with me either. I told myself I needed to relax. There was nothing I could do, but even the thought of that angered me.

Thirty minutes ticked away with no movement at all. I wanted to get out of the car to stretch my legs and possibly see what was happening. I opened the door and unfastened my seatbelt. The smell of sulfur immediately stung my nose and throat. In the distance, a plume of yellow smoke began to rise up into the air.

I walked away from the car to the shoulder of the road. I could hear a ruckus of people screaming and cars crashing. The plume of smoke grew thicker and fanned out into a myriad of tendrils across the expanse of the sky. It shot beyond where I was standing and stood still in the air for a moment and then there was an explosion. Yellow dust slowly descended to the highway.

I started to make my way back to the car, but I had waited too long. The dust had nearly reached the ground. I didn't have any time to get to the shelter and safety of my car. No need though. The dust was falling only on the highway. I was safe on the shoulder of the road, but to be even more cautious I moved up onto the hill near the barrier.

The dust didn’t settle on the exterior of the cars but passed right on through and into the ground except for when it encountered people. When it landed on people it was immediately absorbed, so much so that it was visible as an aura around each person. There was the dust and then a void around the person that was absorbing the dust.

Something maddening was in the dust for when it was absorbed people lost their minds. They would shake their heads violently and slobber at the mouth. Every passing glance was an occasion for a fight. Drivers used their vehicles as weapons. Cars were banging into the backs of other cars. A driver further down pulled onto the shoulder of the road and accelerated to a high speed, then slightly pulled the car back towards the road, knocking off mirrors and scraping exteriors until finally a flatbed truck pulled out in front of it. The car smashed into the side of the trailer. The roof partially peeled back and there was a splatter of blood that shot out of the side of the car. The tail end lifted into the air, swung to the right and then slammed to the ground.

If what existed before was gridlock, then this was the absolute cessation of all mechanical motion. Every car was either locked in place by another car or totaled by the confluence of high velocity. Whatever the case, none escaped. Now the madness spilled out of the cars. There was a general melee falling like dominoes down the highway. Men and women beating each other, kicking, and biting. Doing whatever they needed to do to cause their fellow human beings to suffer.

I saw the boy who earlier had mimicked me. His mother laid on her back, unconscious while her son repeatedly kicked her in the head. The father was too busy pounding another man’s head into the street. A horrible thought popped into my head. I wondered if the father wasn’t preoccupied with attempted homicide would he stop his son, or help him. Maybe it was he that knocked her out in the first place. His son was just mopping up.

“Hey, you piece of shit!”

A burly man, far bigger than me, had spotted me up on the embankment. He was wearing his anger in every aspect of his mannerisms. His fists were balled up and arms swinging erratically. He was breathing fast and hard, face red, stomping up towards me like a bull after a matador. Yet, as soon as he stepped off the road and into the grass everything about him changed. He loosened up his fists and relaxed. He had a bewildered look on his face and was genuinely confused about where he was at. He looked behind him and was overwhelmed with shock.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he ran up to me.

“I don’t know. Everyone has gone crazy.”

“Look at that kid. I’ve got to stop him.”

I grabbed him by the arm. “I don’t think you should go back in there. Maybe we can lure him out.” There was another explosion in the sky as I carefully approached the road, gauging the boundary between war and peace.

“Hey you little shit. Look at me, you filthy little turd.” The child ignored me, ever focused on kicking his mom. I gathered a handful of pebbles and started throwing them. Most of my early attempts were wide left and didn’t get much better from there. It had been a while since I had thrown anything, and my new buddy grew impatient with my lack of athleticism. He stepped up beside me and in the most perfect form launched a pebble that hit the young boy square in the jaw.

The boy stumbled a bit, but then without hesitation ran towards us. His eyes were a dark yellow with small black pupils. He made a beastly growl as he made his way across the road and through the carnage. We backed away to give him plenty of room to run through. The boy barreled through the invisible field, stumbling to his knees as he came off the road. He began bawling, putting his hands to his temples.

“My head hurts. My head hurts,” he cried out.

“Come here son. What’s your dad’s name?”

“Where’s mommy?”

Dead, and you been kicking the shit out of her for thirty minutes.

“She’s at home. What’s your dad’s name?”

“Richard. My head, it hurts. It hurts so bad.”

My partner approached me. “Which one is he? You can’t throw worth a shit?”

“I think it’s the guy in the red tee shirt.”

“Take care of the boy. I’ll get his dad.” He stuck out his hand, “My name’s Tom.”

I shook his hand. “Dave.” He looked appreciative as if I had saved his life. All I had done was accidentally lured him out of the water like a worm on a hook. I guess sometimes, in rare circumstances, being a spineless worm is enough to be a hero. Yet, I felt guilty because I believe he assumed that what I had tried to do for the kid I had done for him. Some things are best left unexplained. I picked up the boy and carried him to the barrier.

Tom was efficient. Each and every pebble he threw hit its mark, but the boy’s father was determined to finish off he poor fellow he was on top of, his fists bloody and torn from overuse. Finally, Tom hurled a larger rock, smacking the man in the side of the head.

“Come on Richard. Come get you some. That’s right,” Tom said as he got into a boxer’s stance. Tom had snagged him, the bait taken, Richard got up and sprinted toward the side of the road, hungry for another fight. The same as before, as soon as Richard got off the road, he fell into a stupor, grabbed his head and fell to the ground.

He groaned and rolled over to his stomach. “My head. It’s about to explode. Where’s Carol? Brett?”

I saw Tom put his arms around his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Richard broke down and wept. The boy had not noticed his father. He was in pain, complaining that there was a loud ringing in his ears. I felt everyone was poisoned and that the longer they were in, the more likely they were to die.

Richard stood up and stared into the chaos. He started to walk back towards the road, but Tom grabbed him. A struggle ensued and Tom slammed Richard to the ground.

“Help! Dave. I need help!”

I left the boy and ran down and sat on Richard’s legs. Tom was laying across his chest and squeezing Richard in a headlock, trying to talk sense into him.

“You can’t go back out there. You’ll lose it.”

“I can’t leave her out there. It’s not right.”

“We’ll get her later when all this clears.”

“When what clears? What is it? What in the hell is it?”

What was what? That was a good question. The one column had now split into to two columns. The explosions became more frequent. The madness expanded.

Richard eventually calmed down. He knew that Tom was correct, that going back out there was a bad idea. The boy was reunited with his father. Nothing was said of his mother. We walked our way up the highway, hugging the barrier, until it ended, making our way closer to the source. Our numbers grew as time passed, for often someone would see us, charge, and then break through the insanity. After a short rest, and a tentative explanation, we would resume our voyage.

The fighting further up the highway was now sluggish. People had worn themselves out but were still unwilling to stop. Their efforts were pitiful, but their spite was far from weakening. Some were on their knees slapping at their opponents. Others were simply lying on their backs verbally harassing whoever they saw. A good deal of them were deceased.

Finally, after an hour of walking we made it to the source. In the middle of the highway was a large sinkhole, extending across the width of the road. Deep from within the hole a wide column of yellow smoke, churning like a tornado, rose high into the sky. Lightning and fire shot out from the sides. The rumble of thunder shook the ground and there was a continuous loud shrill piercing the air. The column forked and became two near the top and folded over and extended down the highway, exploding ever so often and dousing the highway below. Oddly, the width of the column equaled exactly the width of the eastbound lanes. The ground and cars near the perimeter of the hole were on fire.

On the other side of the column and in the westbound lane were a convoy of black sedans, black vans, and black semi-trucks. There was a command center, with trailers and tents set up to the side of the highway where we were headed. The fire trucks and the police cars were kept at bay. The convoy was blocking their path and not letting them through.

“I don’t feel too comfortable staying on this course,” Tom confided in me. “I don’t think they are there to help us.”

I agreed. Tom and I, along with Richard and Brett made a detour and went perpendicular to the highway and walked through an adjacent field. None of the others followed. We watched from a distance as they were rounded up and herded into one of several trailers.

After some time, we separated and went our own ways. It was a long walk home, but one I appreciated. I felt sure that the feds were waiting at my house, and I wasn’t in any hurry to be apprehended and liquidated. When I got close to home, I snuck around to my neighbor’s yard across the street and watched for a while. When I was sure no one was waiting on me or spying outside my house I made my way to the front door. I put the key in and was waiting for someone to grab me. Nothing. I turned the key and went inside. Safe, the house was empty. I didn’t even undress. I stumbled to my bed and immediately fell asleep.

The next day Metro police called and said that they had my car. They explained that it was probably totaled and best to call my insurance. Months passed and no one has harassed me, no one has accosted me and threw me in a room and interrogated me for hours. I suspect they’re watching me though. They’re seeing what happens, waiting in the shadows, biding their time. Are there any lingering effects? How did he escape the mayhem? Why isn’t he affected? Just pure luck, boys. Stepping away at exactly the right time. This worm wiggled and squirmed and accidentally survived. The news said it was a massive gas leak and that it hindered visibility for miles. This resulted in a ten-mile pile-up. I guess the violent behavior was due to frustration. They didn't speak much to that. After all, I-24 is nothing but potholes and assholes. That’s enough to drive anyone mad, and not really news at all.