A Lifeftime

So here I am, driving up the old highway; the commute – an hour if I’m lucky at that time of day – desk to sofa, and I’m not thinking of anything much – dinner maybe, couple of beers on the deck, dip in the pool. Perfect weather – it’s always perfect weather here mind you. Some might say it’s too perfect. Not me. Blue skies, palm trees. Sunshine. Hour’s drive to the ocean. I need the sun in my life – that’s why we came – that and the fresh start, turning over a new leaf, as you do. Well I did… we did.

Anyway, I’ve got the A/C turned up and Talking Heads are playing and you know what? I’m comfortable. Money’s not bad – I mean the fuckers make you work for it, none of your four weeks paid holiday in the good old U S of A – not like back in blighty, but you get oh so much more here and like I said it’s comfortable. Healthcare – I get the best – big house – sprawling even, pool, deck, anything I want really. I’m alright.

Okay – so I’m not “living the dream” – the band split up. I’m not fuck you loaded. Only a few people remember who I was. Some of them do though – that’s something. But I am living a dream – someone’s dream. It could’ve been a whole lot worse. And like I said, I’m comfortable. Really comfortable.

Then it happens. You know they say when you’re about to die your whole life flashes past in seconds? Load of bollocks. It doesn’t. That happens later, in Technicolour slowmo, over and over, awake, dreaming, it makes no difference, not so far anyway.

I’m going off the point…It was a truck – a fucking great beast of a truck – ten feet ahead of me. Tyre blowout and I don’t know, maybe he was dozing too, because he should have known what to do for fuck’s sake. Whatever, it happens and he’s totally lost it – no control, and for a couple of seconds I’m watching the car he drives into as it explodes in a fireball – they both do – really – just like in the movies, and I’m kind of transfixed.

Ten seconds later perhaps, and it kicks in – I don’t know – survival instinct maybe? And I manage to swerve just in time. How close? Inches I’d say, and I’m on autopilot now, hands sticking to the wheel, watching the flames and smoke recede in my mirror. I know I should have stopped but I’m not really registering – know what I mean? And I stay like that until I get into the driveway, cut the engine. Then it hits me.