What a Life

A story about a man coping with the idea of being trapped.

An exasperated sigh left the man's body as he stepped out into the parking lot, a habit of expression he’d picked up--a feeling reminiscent of an old dog that still reluctantly plays fetch.  He walked across to where his car was parked with the autumn chill leaving a frost up on his windshield.   He sank into the seat of that old Ford 1930, cursing his support to the business that had seemingly robbed the life he had left.  The mounted molds of shade beneath his eyes became apparent as the frosted view overhead cleared to reveal the moonlight.  The man stared blankly at such a sight as he started that engine.  Suddenly, he began to think, of course, the same thing he thought last night and the night before, “What if I put my foot on that gas pedal with no sense of direction and just went?”

Pulling out of that lot, the hum of his engine interrupted his thought as another sigh fled from the man.  A feeling washed over him spawned seemingly from the monotony of his work and frustratingly consistent pattern.  New beginnings perhaps thought the man as he muttered, “Who knows,” towards the road through the rearview mirror. He could be on the West Coast in just a few days, maybe on a quest to reclaim that sense of freedom he’d been so desperately searching for.   But after all, fear is real, and uncertainty is fear.  Yet here he was, a man with a plan, a loving wife, and even a career.  A slight smirk crept onto his face as the irony of his last thought occurred to him.  Though mixed in with the realization of reality was his stubborn sense of responsibility, perhaps that was the reason he couldn’t let go.   With that, he found himself at a lone stop sign, with only 2 directions to go in.  

The man was presented with a choice--a choice to traverse the path of freedom he’d so solemnly wished for.  Twisted, spun, bathing in the light peering in from the moon with nothing but his thoughts.  Maintained was the hollow look on his face, staring ahead it seemed the man came to a decision.  With his foot on the gas the man had chosen to return--he was headed home.  “What a life,” he says yet, it was unclear what exactly the man had thought in that moment.  Perhaps he felt that these feelings were all still half-glimpsed with a sense of irrational optimism and curiosity.  Or, it could’ve been a cruel form of acceptance, acknowledging his ideals and need to be free, yet carrying on simply for the sake of obligation.  Guilt perhaps was an emotion too heavy for the man to bear.  With eyelids like boulders he began to feel it--the stars, the moon, the autumn leaves fluttering by as he winded down his twisted yellow brick road.    “What a life,” the man barely muttered as his mind began to wander back to the possibility of what could’ve just been.  Leaving his car behind the man headed straight to his front door. 

Stumbling through his house towards the bedroom,  he’d finally managed to see his wife though fast asleep.  He sat there for a moment wondering whether she’d been the source of his obligation, yet a contrasting idea interrupted his thought as a bittersweet smile fixed itself onto his face.  The moonlight had crept through the window to reveal his wife's face, a beauty that had gone unnoticed by the man before.  Yes, the man had come to realize something he hadn’t quite taken into account before.  He hid away under the covers from the autumn chill and to the warmth of his wife as his consciousness began to fade.  At last, the man had a thought--perhaps this is enough.