A Bad Idea

30 April 2021

Glass is scattered everywhere in the cabin. With your neck twisted to the left, crushed by the roof, you can see above the steering wheel the crumpled hood of the car; it looks more like wrinkled fabric than heavy sheet metal. The tree against which the car crashed stands dejected, as if nothing had happened. The sounds are muffled, the images confused. To your right lies the phone, inexplicably resting on the passenger seat. For it too, it seems nothing has happened. The display is on. Although everything is blurry you can recognize your wife's name. The same screen you had seen moments before, when irritated you had tried to answer, while taking the curve at an excessively high speed. Maybe reacting that way wasn't such a great idea. You've never been reckless at the wheel, you don't remember a time when you exceeded one hundred fifty. Yet, this time you launched yourself at one hundred ninety on these country roads. No, it wasn't a good idea, but you couldn't help yourself. You left the house slamming the door, with all the strength you had in your body, determined never to set foot there again, disgusted and on the verge of vomiting for what you had seen: those two bodies entwined on the couch, your damn couch. How had that bitch not even heard you open the door? Yes, maybe you had opened it a bit too gently, but you were ashamed of having had to come home and feared the confrontation; it would have been difficult to justify yourself. But after all, what did she know about what a crappy day you'd had up to that point? No, coming back home hadn't been a good idea either. You should have gone drinking, to lose consciousness with a belly full of beer like everyone does. But you wanted her support. You had left the office with your box full of knick-knacks, full of bitterness and disappointment, but also partly proud. Yes, getting fired was a tragedy, but having finally told that incompetent of your boss to go fuck himself had swelled your chest and pumped a rush of adrenaline down into your veins capable of reviving you if you had had a heart attack at that moment. And to think you kind of expected it. When that fucking arriviste of the boss's secretary had summoned you, you had the distinct feeling something would go wrong. During the coffee break everyone looked at you differently than usual, avoiding you like a plague victim. Yes, everyone knew. They wanted to avoid any kind of discussion with you. To think that you had entered the office happy. Even the guard at the entrance had been more cordial than usual; you had exchanged a few words about the weather – wonderful – and about how that morning traffic flowed smoothly through the streets. No slowdowns due to accidents or roadwork. You had faced the journey there with a smile, on what seemed like the perfect day. You had left home greeting your son with a kiss on the forehead, in your mouth you still had the taste of coffee and that kiss you received while she wished you a good day and said "I love you."