OBSESSION
The glove box of my car had a glow around it.
For weeks after I’d put the strip of cloth inside, every time I slid into my car this strange euphoria would settle over me. I’d drive humming. Smile at red lights. Traffic no longer bothered me—I had the cloth for company. Besides, the longer I stayed in the car the better I felt.
I never touched the fabric. Never even opened the glove compartment. But I knew it was there. That’s all that mattered.
In one word my life was … contented. At work. At home. As for that party night and what I’d done—the memory faded.
Had it really happened at all?
If so, it had been necessary. The only right thing to do in such a situation.
I took to driving around just to be in my car.
One Saturday I ended up driving for hours. I found myself on the freeway headed south. After well over one hundred miles I turned around. The pleasant feeling had melted away and my insides had started to churn. It was barely noticeable at first. I thought heading back home might help. Maybe my subconscious was simply bored at driving for no reason.
My unease only got worse, like an itch deep inside me, moving around. Couldn’t be scratched. I shifted in the seat, leaned forward over the wheel, leaned back. Switched on the radio. The music sounded out of tune. I smacked it off.
Funny how the hillsides were graying. The sky muddied. The road, the horizon, everything seemed to run together. Even the colors of cars faded out.
The glove box heated up.
Its warmth radiated to me, skimming over my arms, brushing my face. I felt no fright. I wasn’t even surprised. Hadn’t I known all along?
My whole body started to sweat.
By the time I got home I couldn’t wait to slip that cool cloth through my fingers. Chill the burning of my skin.
That night I was supposed to go out with some friends. How to hide my angst? I wanted to cancel and stay home until it was time. But my rational side said no. I’d need as much alibi as I could create.
We went to dinner, then had a few drinks at a bar. Amazing how normal I was able to act. No one would have known a thing was wrong.
Leaving the bar around midnight, I cruised the streets. Twice I had to pull over and open the glove compartment. Feel the fabric.
The third time I hid it under my seat.
I spotted her on a lonely stretch of road. Her car was pulled over to the side, flashers on. She stood by the driver’s door, feet apart, hands to her mouth as if beside herself over what to do.
As soon as I got out of my car I recognized her. The mother on meth. The one who could only say “I don’t know” when asked why she was destroying her own life and the lives of her kids. At that moment the universe slid into place, like the final pieces of a giant frame.
This woman deserved to die.
She didn’t remember me until I reminded her. Apparently I’d made little impression on her flighty, self-absorbed mind. She’d made a big one on me.
No car insurance, she wailed. Now how was she supposed to get home to her children, just sent back from their foster home? The policy had run out and she’d had no money to renew it.
Of course not. Every dime she earned went into her veins.
Her kids would be better off without her.
I offered to drive her home. “Oh, yes, thank you!” she cried. I told her to turn off her flashers and lock the car.
Two miles, that’s all I managed. My fingers branded themselves into the steering wheel.
She was chattering on about what she’d done to clean up her life since I last saw her. She was working now at a respectable job. Hadn’t used for months. I didn’t believe that. “I have some ideas for you,” I said. “Can we stop and talk a minute?”
“Sure.”
I pulled into an alley between two stores. Nobody was around. In one fluid movement I put the car in park, whipped the cloth from beneath my seat, and surged toward her neck.
My body caught fire as we struggled, burning up my desire, her unforgivable sins. Turning them all to ash. The fabric hardened to steel in my hands.
When she finally slumped over, coolness swept through my veins.
One thing I knew then. I was born to do this. All the years preceding this quest of truth were merely funneled sands of time.
The swelling victory. A long exhale.
My brain notched into logistics mode.
I put on my gloves. Shoved her all the way down in the seat.
Searching for a place to dump the body, I felt oddly empty. Only when I’d disposed of it did I numb out in vast, near-floating relief.
By the time I reached home I knew something more. It both frightened and excited me. From here on, things would be different. The next time I wouldn’t wait for death to seek me out.
I would pursue it.