Primordial: An Abstraction

43

It’s rush hour.

I accidentally cut off a pickup truck with jacked-up tires.

At the next stoplight the truck pulls next to me.

The driver rolls down the window.

He glares at me.

He says I drive a faggy car so I must be some kinda fag.

“Do Subarus denote homosexuality? This is a Forester, mind you. It’s technically an SUV.”

He swears at me. He tells me he’s going to kill me.

“Well, if it helps, it’s not my car. I ‘borrowed’ it from one of my roommates.” I laugh.

He continues to threaten me. Then the light turns green. He rolls up his window. He flips me off.

We go.

I’m running low on gas. I stop to get some.

The pickup truck pulls into the gas station. The driver leaps out and marches toward me.

He’s short.

He has a patchy beard.

He wears a plaid shirt and a trucker hat and all the rest of it.

I get out of the Subaru.

The driver reaches back a bloody stump.

I am a foot-and-a-half taller and 30 lbs. more muscular than him. At least.

He didn’t realize it before. Everybody looks more or less the same behind the wheel of a car.

There’s more talk of me being gay.

I take a step towards him.

He runs back to his truck.

As he retreats, I sort of yell at him in this resounding, preternatural death-voice. The modest subtext of my thesis: “You fucked with the wrong asshole, shithead.”

The driver tries to get the truck going.

The engine hiccups. The starter won’t catch.

There’s an aluminum bat in the trunk of the Subaru.

I retrieve it.

I stride toward the truck.

The driver is getting antsy now. He peers at me in the rear view mirror. He hops up and down in his seat, stomping on the gas pedal.

I fall into a trot.

I lift the bat over my head.

I bring the bat down on the windshield of the truck, exploding it into glinting stardust.

The driver shrieks like an insect.

I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I hit the truck again with the bat. I’m screaming like a pope, howling like a holy ghost. I hit the truck again with the bat.

The truck roars to life.

We go.