The Road as a Place of Existence, Slipping.
There’s a mirror in the sky
I’m watching as I fall into the ground,
I’m watching as I float into the night
They take in all the angry light you tucked away
They rise up when the dark becomes the day
They rise up but by then it will be too late
It was fall, but there was no pretty foliage. The leaves had all blown away or were caught in gutters or stopping up storm drains. Everything was gray and slightly damp. The wind did carry the smell of autumn, though.
This moment is right between true fall and winter, Calvin thought. It's even dusk. Not either day nor night.
It was the perfect time to leave.
After he slammed the trunk shut, he winced at the noise. It was hard to explain: the sound could not be called a squeak, or a thud. If anything, it was like a moan of an old house. It was a heavy noise. It was definite. There truly was no reason for him to stay, the noise said. If Calvin was romantic, he would say it was the sound of his heart breaking, but thankfully he was not.
He turned around for one more look at the apartment building. The squat cube was nothing much to look at, but it had been home for long enough. It was familiar and safe. It had been safe.
Now, it was just familiar.
Cal couldn't see the windows to his apartment from this side, but he knew the lights would be on. There were no drapes or shades to block out the light- there never had been. The spider plant would be black from the living room lamp, a tentacled monster hanging in the middle of the window looking almost threatening.
That tangled mess of leaves and vines would be something he'd miss. The cuttings he took would probably not grow in his car, but it was worth a try. Taking pieces of the plant was the most sentimental thing he had done. It couldn't even be called a gesture because, well, he was the only one who knew about it. It wasn't even passive aggressive. If his friends knew they would say he was the worst dumped boyfriend ever, but his friends were all kind of assholes.
Calvin wasn't feeling vindictive, or that he needed to get revenge. He just felt a bit empty. He had known the relationship was going south and never did anything to save it. He had been left, and yet he was still the one leaving. It all seemed inevitable.
Turned away, Calvin got into the car. The slamming of that door was an ending. It was a flourish and the end of a song, the final period of a terse letter to the editor. He only took one more look through his mirror as he drove away. The trees were just black hands clawing at the building. And he had escaped them.
There was something wrong about apartments in the suburbs and driving through them only confirmed this for Cal. There he had been, sharing a small place when down the road there were houses with lawns and fences and everything Calvin would not have. The houses and churches and schools just screamed community where Calvin didn't experience any of that. He had had an upstairs neighbor who enjoyed country music loudly and often and had someone on his hall that liked leaving bitchy notes next to the elevator. That did not a community make.
Apartments were for the city, where everyone could pretend they were not connected by anything. Living in an apartment was like living on the internet: there was this specter of anonymity. If no one knows their neighbors, anything is possible.
But just by being in the suburbs this gentle balance is disruptive. Instead of being the internet, it was like a college dorm. People wanted to talk, to know who they were living next to. Calvin did not agree with that. He was almost positive that they had gossiped about him in the laundry room. There would be even more to talk about now that he was gone. As subdivision after subdivision passed him by, Calvin idly wondered how long it would take for people to learn the full story. Or to even notice that he had moved out.
Not long, considering how heated the battle for parking had gotten lately. And Cal did have a habit of snagging the best spots. It was nice to know that the mundane intrigues of shared parking would be what exposed his flight.
Three hours later and Calvin was not quite sure where he was. It was now pitch black and he had left the comforting sidewalks and street lamps behind. He was not in the country because Calvin believed there was no country when you were on the highway. The highway was it's own distinct place.
The signage meant he was not lost but that did not mean he knew where he was. He could say how many miles he was from the apartment, what state he was in, and even where the nearest Waffle House was (two exits away). But none of that helped him know where he was physically. He needed a destination for that.
With an end point, Calvin could say “I'm halfway there,” or “I need to take exit 118” but without that he was no where but moving. He didn't have the capability to say he was “going home” or “on the way to my parents house”. Nor did he have anyone to tell this to now. It was a depressing thought.
It could also be a freeing experience, Calvin added after a second of thought. For once in his life he didn't have to answer for anything. He didn't have to explain himself to someone. No one would demand to know where he was going or what he planned to do. Calvin had no messy entanglements.
Well, there was work. But in this age of information, he had not actually been to the office in months. The wonderful thing about being a translator was that it could all be done online. And being a freelancer made this sudden trip unremarkable. He only had one current project and the delivery date was weeks away. From where he was sitting, a little escape was a good thing.
and there is my intro to my novel. This was all written while listening to the song "Slipping" which is why I posted the Skybox playlist. Plus I love everything they've done. You can find my whole NaNo playlist for download here. My NaNo profile is here if you want to add me. Now, sleep. I'll do the rest of the daily quota tomorrow.