The Drive to Your Parents' House

As I lay amidst the wreckage, looking towards the love of my life, I wondered what had gone wrong, that we had ended so swiftly. With my hands on the wheel. I'm sure they are my hands. One would know their own hands, wouldn't one? The scent of fresh grass cuttings, hot rubber from the tyres and petrol, blood, sweat and the bergamot and orange blossom of your Gucci Bamboo fill my lungs.

I was in shock, as anyone would be. Shock at what had just happened and the harsh new reality facing us both, but also shock at what had led up to this tragic outcome. There are not enough minutes in a day.

Retracing the last minute of my... of our life, as the memories gradually flooded back into my mind, I recounted that before laying down, we had climbed out of the car, as it sat in the ditch. That’s what people often say.

Seconds before, we had been having the most passionate and heated debate of our relationship, which threw me off course and resulted in me careening off the dual carriageway. Until there are no minutes left at all.

How would you spend the last minute

you had on this god-forsaken rock?

As I slowly, second by second rewound the events, it had been that shift from a heart-to-heart, a deep discussion of our hopes, dreams, and future as we travelled to her parents for Sunday dinner, that had dissolved quickly into bitterness and negativity. “You have always been dismissive of my career, Alex"-the reverberation of your voice is aching in my ears. “I hate you, Alex” – did you really say that? Ever?

Or were we heading somewhere else? It’s all a bit…

Would you find the nearest, beautiful being

and cling to it for one last rough and tumble. “that’s not true or fair, Angela. I've supported you. When your parents would knock you. Who was there?" why do we do this? Did I really say that? “I don’t want to support you!” – is that more the truth?

Even if the climax never comes, the glory, the power, the release.

Even if the climax is demise.

Wait... scrap that thought. No. Leave it. Keep it. It's important.

Or would you take the time to say all you ever wanted to,

Although there was no real chance of avoiding the route the conversation took so rapidly, when we first set out on our journey, there was calmness and serenity.

To write a note for your loved ones or offer a prayer of repentance to the Creator?

These are things I find running through my head.

as the time ticks away on my last night on Earth. My hands are not on the wheel, though. Oh, the folly. Why did I not just draw a breath?

You see, the day was a normal day up until it wasn't.

As is the way with days that become important,

etched into the fabric of your existence. “Sorry seems to be the hardest word for you." "And you"

I had come into contact with a nerve agent. There’s one for the records. A nerve agent absolves us both. Even if the nerve agent is an illusory device?Holding up the bar before hitting the road, before our discussion boiled over into an argument. Was like a nerve agent. Slowly working its way through my system.

and was fading fast.

Which is why I am wasting my last 60 seconds of breath

to say all this. Was the nerve agent a nerve agent or too much alcohol. But my hands. Are. Not. On. The. Wheel. Yours?

Live like you love life,

love like you bleed need. The nerve agent smelled of the strongest Tanqueray. Nerve agent sounds more dramatic than too much inebriated.

Nerve agent. Less James Bond. More nerve agency. I've always been snide that way, haven't I? Snipe and snip at you. Undermining. But lacking agency.

A smile across our faces as we sang along with Reginald Dwight

Forgive easyily and forget freely.

Nothing lasts forever, would hold a different place in our minds from that day onward, though we didn't know it as we pulled away from home.

as I am so close to proving.

At the ripe old age of 29

I am about to breathe my last breath,

Hold me closer,

so, I say this not because I think I am better,

Tiny dancer,

but because I want you to be better.

I can feel myself fading. I realise now. What I should have done long ago. Forgive me.

Without me when I am gone.

The fault is always mine, and as it should be.

So, as I use the last embers of life to switch places with you

from the driver's seat to the passenger seat, this is my climax.

Saving you from blame. Paving a path for you to redemption.

Unnerving, unswayable agency is what I now have, in these last precious moments.

Looking back. You deserved more. More support. For your goals. I was too busy focusing on mine.

I know you will wake unblamed and saved.

Without me. This is how I make things right.

I choose now to use my unnerving agency for your future.

Without me.

-voice recording taken from Alex Richter's phone. DOA. Alongside his wife, Angela Richter. Injured but stable.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Answers on a postcard. It's a story. That's all I am saying. Hope you enjoyed it.

Here are some other things I've written recently, if you're interested.