I was driving home alone in the darkness with these books, as well as ten gallons of water to fill our cups, our dog & cat bowls, to wash dishes, to flush the toilets. (It's amazing how many ways we need water.) Suddenly I heard a man's voice. Strange, as I was listening to music on the radio. I turned down the radio. The voice was gone. So I turned up the music again.
Perhaps the radio had been tuned to two stations. But no. The station seemed clear enough. That man's voice sounded again.
I thought of the numerous e-mails forwarded me about safety for women in the city. How men sometimes hide in unlocked vehicles waiting for their prey. But I'd locked my car. Hadn't I? Oh, please. I shut off the radio and waited.
Moments later, I heard:
"Hotdogs, hotdogs. Ketchup, mustard, relish. Get your fixin's here."
The hotdog toy we'd found at the swap meet last week, and which was obviously being pressed on by gallons of water, played all the way home.
I got a kick out of all the explanations I'd come up with for that voice--some of them totally illogical.
Which reminded me of fiction. Your characters don't always need to think logically--that would be asking too much. Wouldn't it?
4 comments:
Suppose, perhaps in imagination on that raining dark night, the hotdog man came further alive and pried his way into your most hidden and fearsome agenda. Suppose he turned over the hard, heavy stones you had never looked under before. Suppose, on that darkening night, that your subconscious, your only "other passenger," compelled you to look at some truths never before allowed light, and that in doing so, your view of your life was dramatically changed as a path opened up in front of you. But, things had to happen; steps taken that were never contemplated before. Suppose once revealed, the new insight became settling and a glorious life full of adventure and joy unfolded - right there in the rain-drenched windshield's reflections.
And suppose all of that happened an instant before your car met another, headlight to headlight, both skidding off the slippery wet road down, down into a very deep chasm (or maybe not).
You had my heart pumping, my palms sweating. I love it.
Jana, aren't you glad we, human beings, have hearts to feel, not just heads to figure things out?
Chai
Yes, I am--most of the time.:)
Post a Comment