She’s incredibly tired, so much so than any comment I make wins a sharp glance and a deeper scowl. We have been on the road, officially, for 12 days. She hasn’t driven once.
“Hey,” I softly prod her, “you want to stop by the nearest station?”
She shakes her head, her hair falling in front of her face, “M’fine.”
Her expression says otherwise, but I don’t push it. We ride in silence for five minutes until she says, “Maybe we should.” And so we do.
I wait for her in the car, smiling when I see her trudging out of the small gas station. She glares back but I only laugh. When she enters the car she throws a pack of gushers at me. “You would not believe what I’ve had to endure in the last five minutes, Claire, I swear I’m going to go feral.”
I kiss her gently, “I’m sorry getting me a pack of gushers has caused you so much pain.” She rolls her eyes but kisses me back. “You’re lucky I love you,” she laughs.
It was hard not to fall off, but I somehow steadied myself against the wind. My bike seemed to want to lift itself, my dress tight against my left side, the wind pushing me closer and closer to the edge of the road. I look to my right. The ocean stares back at me angrily, her waves crashing against each other. I hesitate and nearly miss the bike pedal, making me sway dangerously against the wind. I lift my head. I’m so close, too close to back down now. There is such a large mass of cloud above me I can’t see the sun. I have to get there.
I was riding in silence. No one was driving, but the steering wheel turned slowly at times and steadied itself again. I couldn’t see outside anything outside the window, the glass fogged up so intensely every time I lifted a finger to make a pattern, it would disappear. I looked at the dashboard. It was red, a kind of red I’ve never seen before. I’m not sure I had ever been able to see it. Tints of violet jumped at me from the color, as if my brain was processing the multiple things red was made of separately. I yawned. I do not remember the last time I had slept.
I was riding in silence. But I had no idea where I was going.
I lifted my eyes to the roof of the car. I had no idea if there was one, but I can somehow sense it’s there. Like a comforting sensation. I felt protected, but from what? What was I afraid of?
She looked over at him, laughing. He was rolling his eyes as he switched lanes, but she could see that he was smiling as they passed under a street light.
Tomorrow will be a different day. Tomorrow, I will become a passenger – just a passenger in the car that is my life. I no longer hold the steering wheel – and maybe I never have. Maybe it’s unfair and maybe I should be mad. But maybe that’s alright…
Abordó el taxi y evadió toda charla. Sólo dio indicaciones al chofer y se limitó a mirar la ciudad por la ventanilla. La encontró decadente y lamentable. Nadie habría imaginado que darle poder a esos locos pondría todo en peligro. Ya no había nada que hacer. Llegó al bunker, ingresó el código de seguridad. Tomó los controles y dejó de ser pasajero del planeta. Ocupó su lugar como piloto y lo giro unos grados fuera de la órbita para dejar que el sol hiciera el resto.
The passenger seat was empty. I have no idea where I’m going, but there’s a feeling in my chest I can’t drive off. It’s like there’s a compass guiding me somewhere. If only I knew where I was heading.
Days pass, and then years, and eventually a lifetime. They are made of decisions, or at least the idea of decisions. There were choices, that much is assured. But who chose? The person that you weren’t, and became? Or the person that you are, and never had any chance to avoid? Or do the two meet somewhere in the past, when all scales were tipped to the point of breaking, and the future wrested from your hands?
I once travelled to Wiltshire on a train from Berwick. It was cancelled from Durham so we were all stranded for hours until a ticket man told us just to jump on any train to get out of the station! I ended up on the floor on my way to Penzance!
Frank is the only passenger on the bus. Frank never bought a ticket. He snuck on when the bus was full and the bus driver was on her smoke break (she forgot to shut the doors). Now he sits with his hands folded haphazardly in his lap. They are like fraying parachutes unable to carry him to safety. The bus driver drives slowly. Her eyes are rimmed with gray shadows. He can see the hue from the rearview mirror.
She’s incredibly tired, so much so than any comment I make wins a sharp glance and a deeper scowl. We have been on the road, officially, for 12 days. She hasn’t driven once.
“Hey,” I softly prod her, “you want to stop by the nearest station?”
She shakes her head, her hair falling in front of her face, “M’fine.”
Her expression says otherwise, but I don’t push it. We ride in silence for five minutes until she says, “Maybe we should.” And so we do.
I wait for her in the car, smiling when I see her trudging out of the small gas station. She glares back but I only laugh. When she enters the car she throws a pack of gushers at me. “You would not believe what I’ve had to endure in the last five minutes, Claire, I swear I’m going to go feral.”
I kiss her gently, “I’m sorry getting me a pack of gushers has caused you so much pain.” She rolls her eyes but kisses me back. “You’re lucky I love you,” she laughs.
when i flew on a plane i was a passenger. on a boat i was also a passenger.
Drops on the window. Hope stirs.
Strangers murmur measured words.
Demure.
Unsure.
Heartbeats through the loud speaker.
Landscapes blur.
It was hard not to fall off, but I somehow steadied myself against the wind. My bike seemed to want to lift itself, my dress tight against my left side, the wind pushing me closer and closer to the edge of the road. I look to my right. The ocean stares back at me angrily, her waves crashing against each other. I hesitate and nearly miss the bike pedal, making me sway dangerously against the wind. I lift my head. I’m so close, too close to back down now. There is such a large mass of cloud above me I can’t see the sun. I have to get there.
I was riding in silence. No one was driving, but the steering wheel turned slowly at times and steadied itself again. I couldn’t see outside anything outside the window, the glass fogged up so intensely every time I lifted a finger to make a pattern, it would disappear. I looked at the dashboard. It was red, a kind of red I’ve never seen before. I’m not sure I had ever been able to see it. Tints of violet jumped at me from the color, as if my brain was processing the multiple things red was made of separately. I yawned. I do not remember the last time I had slept.
I was riding in silence. But I had no idea where I was going.
I lifted my eyes to the roof of the car. I had no idea if there was one, but I can somehow sense it’s there. Like a comforting sensation. I felt protected, but from what? What was I afraid of?
transition
i have always been a frequent passanger. whenever I travel I know how to use my passport, where to buy special gifts and where to have a good coffee
She looked over at him, laughing. He was rolling his eyes as he switched lanes, but she could see that he was smiling as they passed under a street light.
a passenger is someone who rides in a plain car or bike and rides with someone else for however long and the driver gets u from point a to point b
car, ride, back seat driver, passive, plane white, pigeon, bird, flight attendant, yes
Tomorrow will be a different day. Tomorrow, I will become a passenger – just a passenger in the car that is my life. I no longer hold the steering wheel – and maybe I never have. Maybe it’s unfair and maybe I should be mad. But maybe that’s alright…
he got in the passenger seat of the car the driver starts talking to him and driving away from their location
It was a long way to came up to here. But he did. And now he finally arrived. Without his Smartphone, but alive.
Abordó el taxi y evadió toda charla. Sólo dio indicaciones al chofer y se limitó a mirar la ciudad por la ventanilla. La encontró decadente y lamentable. Nadie habría imaginado que darle poder a esos locos pondría todo en peligro. Ya no había nada que hacer. Llegó al bunker, ingresó el código de seguridad. Tomó los controles y dejó de ser pasajero del planeta. Ocupó su lugar como piloto y lo giro unos grados fuera de la órbita para dejar que el sol hiciera el resto.
The passenger seat was empty. I have no idea where I’m going, but there’s a feeling in my chest I can’t drive off. It’s like there’s a compass guiding me somewhere. If only I knew where I was heading.
My passenger looks over at me, her hair streaming out behind her, catching the setting sun.
I smile back, just as radiant.
The dust fountains out behind us as we race the night together. Always together.
Days pass, and then years, and eventually a lifetime. They are made of decisions, or at least the idea of decisions. There were choices, that much is assured. But who chose? The person that you weren’t, and became? Or the person that you are, and never had any chance to avoid? Or do the two meet somewhere in the past, when all scales were tipped to the point of breaking, and the future wrested from your hands?
I once travelled to Wiltshire on a train from Berwick. It was cancelled from Durham so we were all stranded for hours until a ticket man told us just to jump on any train to get out of the station! I ended up on the floor on my way to Penzance!
Frank is the only passenger on the bus. Frank never bought a ticket. He snuck on when the bus was full and the bus driver was on her smoke break (she forgot to shut the doors). Now he sits with his hands folded haphazardly in his lap. They are like fraying parachutes unable to carry him to safety. The bus driver drives slowly. Her eyes are rimmed with gray shadows. He can see the hue from the rearview mirror.