An agonized bleat from Michaels's horn cut through the entire intersection. In the severed space he waved his hand at the distracted driver across the street, signalling for him to finally move. Brushed scarlet, the older man tossed his cell, and made his turn. Before his vehicle pivoted he gave a sheepish apologetic wave.
Seething behind smokey crimson curtains Michaels couldn't let the interaction go without another dagger. He responded to the yielding pleasantry with a soured expression, and an aggressive jerk of his hands, hammering the driver's fault home. Michaels's head shook back and forth following the clicks of his indicator like a metronome, trying to dispel his disbelief and agitation. He merged onto the freeway onramp and headed back to his place. Illuminated under the crystallized indigo glow of his digital dashboard his hands gripped the subtle ridges of the stereo dial.
As the volume increased his foot pressed the accelerator down, rocketing his car beyond the flow of traffic. The song built in intensity as he zippered across the asphalt. His heartbeat followed the pulsating arpeggios as they climbed across the MSTRKRFT’s pounding electro beats. Regardless of the reckless speed, and the focus it garnished, his thoughts kept reeling.
The minor confrontation nagged at Michaels. He was by no means adverse to those kinds of interactions, almost the opposite. How unencumbered he was by hurt feelings had helped build his career. Yet Michaels couldn't stop from scowling while he replayed the foolishness of the man on his phone. The lingering emotions puzzled him.
It was infuriating. Worse than the incident was its taint on his evening, a night he should be celebrating. With one hand on the wheel, he merged into the fast lane. Michaels tore the black noose from around his throat, and unbuttoned the top of his collar. Fresh air flooded in as the window rolled down, whipping his short hair while he yelled happy war cries to the void.
He's been victorious today. Succeeded in strong-arming a massive deal over a huge competitor for his company. Days like this was why he got paid such a lucrative salary. That afternoon had proved his worth again for the umpteenth time, not that there were doubts that he was aware of around the office. He still liked to cement himself as the shark he was.
The company that they'd been trying to broker the deal with had been fronted by one of his old university schoolmates. The sight of his name on the documents prior to their first meeting months ago had sent his thoughts spinning, and competitive nature peaking. He hadn't been a threat then, but the mere opportunity to pulverize a past rival was too rich to let slip.
It had taken over half a year brimming with eighty hour work weeks to accomplish. Rest had all but disappeared from his life. The gym, vacations, a healthy dating life, quality time with his kids, all sacrificed for the sweet nectar of victory, an accomplishment, that still at that moment, despite everything, he couldn't taste.
Michaels rolled the windows lower, turned the music louder, drummed along the steering wheel, and howled again to the heavens.
Nothing.
Relief wouldn't come. The margins were flush, champagne uncorked, astonished back-pats showered, grateful handshakes gripped, relief and admiration painted over his co-workers' chins. Congratulatory play by plays reliving how he'd cornered their competitors, played their board like a chess master, calculated their hands to zugzwang, and caught their clumsy follies to his web we're spoken of ad nauseam that evening. His artistic leveraging had shaped a good deal to a historic one. Had everyone gained? To a degree, sure, but, Michaels had won by a lot more.
He went back to his dash and cycled through his messages again.
Now there was time for his children, and yet no responses were answered. No texts, no checks ins. The absence loud from teens glued to their phones. Hurt, but not surprised, his mind moved from them to the ice waiting at home in his freezer. In special molds cut for precious, well deserved scotch. There was one bottle Michaels kept beyond his showcase, a private stock for monumental nights. His father's favourite, a nod to the old boy from beyond the grave, saved for moments he'd hoped would've made him proud.
His internal chatter bickered. The commanding voice he used in the office boomed against his heavy heart. This was exciting! He was doing well. Michaels was eating healthy, climbing to new heights in his career. Free from the burdens of dependants. The machine unstoppable.
Yet these thoughts came with weighted truth. They excited Michaels intellect, but unraveled his soul. There was no ease as he began to reminisce of the old home he used to return to. There would be no dog waiting to greet him tonight. She lived with his ex now, with his children, all tucked away in their old house, above the same yard he used to mow. He missed the scratches and the happy barks. There was no food waiting, no meals aside from his delivered keto packages.
The sports car's velocity increased. And yet when it came time to turn home he breezed past the exit. It was peculiar. He'd intended to go rest. Hypnotized by a nostalgic sorrow, Michaels's mind and movements had fallen to a fated autopilot. He wrestled his confusion away from his hurt and back to inflation. His ego vibrated with glee having remembered besting his former classmate yet again. Anchoring his old crown as top of his class while he sat at the throne of the industry. Now with the empirical evidence of his prowess he felt immortal. Yet no matter the heights of his pride, he couldn't square his unhappiness.
It was impossible to rally joy from the pit of his stomach, or fill that missing abyss. In his rearview mirror the hours he'd poured into grad school seemed longer, harder, and grander than his arduous work weeks. If he could only go back and cherish them before they slipped. Michaels's old campus was a few short hours away, and he wondered if a celebratory drink in his favourite haunt would quell the prodding demons within. A chance to remind himself of how far he'd come. If that didn't settle him, then perhaps the burn of strong spirits would.
In the raised pavement markers along the highway Michaels reflected on his old friends, and how much further he'd ascended compared to them. The metrics stirred his pride. Their toiling existences were spent in the suburbs, with lacklustre families, packed into cheerio riddled minivans. Vacation time dominated with visits to in-laws, and small shared cabins around dingy lakes. While his last trips from his penthouse had been to the Maldives, and other exclusive exotic islands dotting the Pacific and Indian Oceans. While the excursions may have been few and far between, they were the best that money could buy. After an hour mulling through his laundry list of victories, and the zeros in his bank accounts, Michaels missed another exit.
The mistake rolled over the numbed man. Instead of finding a suitable place to backtrack he drove on. He didn't know why he couldn't feel happy. He couldn't understand how outside the bullet points of his resume, none of those achievements seemed to matter. Or why he kept thinking not just of the dog, but of the feeling of the door opening into their home. The intangle field that surrounded him when he'd sit and listen to his children's laughter. The symphonic sounds of their play, the percussive kiss on his cheek from the woman that Michaels not only had loved, but promised himself to.
He didn't know why he kept driving, or where he was going. How the bullshit burgers and french fries he allowed himself to eat tasted so good while he filled his gas tank. It wasn't until he switched to some softer music that his racing mind quieted. The gentle roar of the highway underneath soothed him back to the present, and he realized he'd been making his way to the coast. Headed to the ocean, the only place where he didn't feel the need to compete, or impress. Where it was only him, the immense All, and nothing to do but be still and savour the salty night air in deep breaths.
In his furthest recesses Michaels knew that he not only needed that sacred space to breathe, but worse, he needed a long honest conversation with himself. An uncomfortable thumb tapped over the top of his steering wheel, and he drove onwards towards a new dawn.
Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the previous 12 part collection of Zoditraxx, and consider the other side of subtle dualities.
-Mr. Write
PS: Be sure to check out Exaggerated Shadow’s new release for Clear the Aires on all your favourite streaming platforms!