Short Fiction: "A Passerby"

The driveway was long, in fact exceedingly long, and now seemed unnecessarily far from the street which connected the house with the asphalt circulatory system of America. She was almost home. Having drove the rest of the way back in tears however, these last few hundred feet seemed excruciating and she cursed herself for demanding that such a grand entranceway be constructed while the house was being built. It had not registered how weak her body felt until she had unlocked the deadbolt and began to pull the heavy oak door forward. She strained under its weight. When she entered the foyer and found her way to the keypad, her hand trembled as she punched in the code. She closed the door with her foot and stood there for a moment, comfortable in the darkness before the automatic lights came on.

Michael was, of course, away at school and would not be returning home until holiday break and Aaron would be Chicago closing a deal till at least Thursday. Her breath quaked in her lungs and she felt as though she might allow herself to cry again now that she remembered the house was empty. She hesitated.

"Anita?" she called out indiscriminately into the house. There was no answer save for the slight reverberation of her voice in the front staircase. She glanced at her watch and shook her head at having lost track of time. She immediately went into the bedroom and fished through the closet until she retrieved a shoebox sized plastic case that made a soft rattle as she removed it. She struggled momentarily with the white plastic top until it suddenly slurped, popping off and landing on the floor. She ignored this and took the opened box with her into the living room and sat with it on her lap and stared at the dead grey screen of the television.

***

The day had been fairly routine up until the incident and had it not been for that episode, she might have had what most would call a pleasant evening. Seeing as how both her boys would be out of town for the evening, she’d made early dinner plans with Marie, whose husband was with Aaron in Chicago. This was done in an effort to both alleviate loneliness and also to extend a friendly gesture to a woman she’d certainly have to spend time with in the coming months, possibly even years. As it turned out, she and Marie shared more than just consorts in the same company and the dinner became more of a good time than a social obligation. They talked about their husbands and their silly careers, the latest gossip around the extended social circle of the firm, their time in college and how they met their respective spouses – truly a very splendid conversation. This came as relief to both her and Marie, as the two had been awaiting the annual Christmas party with a mixture of excitement and anxiety because neither had a close acquaintance that would be in attendance this year.

"Honestly, we should have done this sooner…it’s so nice to have someone normal to talk to."

"Oh, I know! Some of the others, like Andrew’s wife, not to talk poorly of her of course, but she always wants to talk about the most unnecessary things!"

"Its just annoying I think. She practically had an argument with Donald Weiss over some bill that was before congress (which literally had nothing to do with anything, by the way) to the point where it was making me uncomfortable."

"We’ll have to stick together at the holiday party to keep the conversations interesting. Oh I hate those things – I can hardly stand being there before I have a few drinks in me anyway!"

"I know! When is it again?"

"The twentieth."

"Oh that’s right. We’ll have to excuse ourselves to the bar for the first half-hour so we can pretend to enjoy ourselves. I’m no actress – I’ll need some assistance!"

They both laughed and finished their wine. After the check was paid, they made plans to have lunch in few days and she left the restaurant feeling very good. It wasn’t quite late yet, but it was certainly dark out, as the wintry evening had begun sweeping across the sky in the late afternoon. It was brisk and clear in the parking lot; the moon hung unusually high and bright, as it has the tendency to do in the winter months, and the world seemed still and tranquil. She pulled out of the parking lot heading east on a dark boulevard lined with Birch and White Oak curtains that shivered and swayed in the night breeze. She drove rather listlessly until her attention was drawn to another car that erratically switched lanes about five hundred feet in front of her. The car’s brake lights flickered to life as it slowed to look at something in the right lane, and then the red orbs dimmed, as though uninterested, and the car accelerated back to cruising speed. Apparently the car had been avoiding what appeared to be a trash bag someone had thrown in the road.

***

The first indication that the bag in the in the road was not a bag at all was the protruding bone of the man’s right arm which was the color of a bloodshot eye in the halogen beams of the headlights. She had already started changing lanes to avoid the object when she noticed it and her mind grasped that the tangled rags in the street were, in fact, a person. In the next instant, just before the beams passed over the man in the street, she saw him flinch and shake like a dying animal – a mangled broken creature. It was questionable whether or not he was conscious, but there could be little doubt that he was still alive.

For a moment after seeing the broken man in the street, everything went numb. She felt disconnected. Then her mind raced and she began to feel faint of breath and a pressing sensation of pointed nausea shot through her gut. She pulled over to steady herself and take the situation in. Is he still alive? No, he must be dead. She looked behind her but could only see back a few feet to where her taillights lit the road like a garnet shadow. She didn’t know whether to go back or not. Certainly, she had no medical experience and there was nothing she could do to help him, even if he was alive. It was a fairly busy road and someone else would surely notice him. Besides, what if the police thought she had somehow caused the accident? She could still faintly taste the Pinot Noir on her lips. She wanted desperately to call Aaron, but she knew he’d still be in meetings on Central time and wouldn't pick up. She decided she probably shouldn’t get involved. Clearly, someone would notice him. The debate in her mind ceased and she pulled away from the curb.

***

As she sat on the couch she began crying again and still felt as though she might vomit. The images of the man’s squirming body and bloody, exposed bone were momentarily etched in her brain and she could not get them out. She felt terrible that she’d seen such a thing. Never in her life had she laid eyes upon someone so injured – mortally injured as was most likely the case. It was all too real. Everything this man was, everything he loved, all that was important to him – all was now gone. There was death, right in her high beams. She cursed the bastard that hit him and prayed to no one in particular that he’d be caught and sent to jail for life. What kind of person could hit someone and leave the scene? She didn't want to think about it anymore.

After a few moments of scrambling through the box, she removed a small translucent orange bottle, opened it, and carefully shook two oblong white pills into her soft palm. She pushed the box off her lap, went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, then returned to the couch and swallowed them down with a single practiced gulp. She curled up with her knees near her breast and turned on the TV which lit the dark room with a soft and familiar glow. She wandered through the channels looking for something to take her thoughts off the man in the street, which became easier as her mind clouded and her vision brightened with medication. She stumbled upon the News and the serious tone of the anchor caught her attention.

"... the five Marines killed in today’s IED explosion are thought to have…"

She could only watch for a moment before she just shut the TV off. That was nothing she wanted to have to think about now – or ever as it were. As she curled up into a tighter ball and began to feel more comfortable she noticed how pretty and clear the moon looked in the crisp night sky framed by her bay window. It blanketed the earth with a thin layer of pure ashen light that made the reflective elements in the asphalt dance like blue and white diamonds scattered across the blacktop. She smiled and decided that she didn’t mind the exceedingly long driveway after all.

Chris Carsten -- 2006