Cars Passing By

Do you ever wonder who is in the driver’s seat of a car that cruises down the street faster than they should? 

Slower than they should?

Better than they should?

Without an owner like they should?

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense to me- that two universes collide on earth, producing an invisible driver that only exists to distract you from the fact that there is no true definition of reality. 

Is that what I tell myself when I see my guardian angel pass in a brown car, when I can’t quite catch the whites of his eyes as he betrays me and glides through a huge puddle on  the road, getting the lower half of my body wet?

Is he an alien, instead?  Is he the being that sits it the chair fifty feet away from the elevators (he can’t get past the gate inside) that looks somewhat like the Grimm Reaper (until I walk up to it and see it is nothing)?  Should I be scared?

No, I shouldn’t, because I’m not.  You could say what you want, but the “playing with reality” aspect of what I aim to write about now just remains the purple elephant in the room, until someone else believes me, that I am being followed my something, because it was what I used to pray about. 

Is he a guardian angel?  Or is something that has come back to seek revenge on the man that almost caused a second disruption of reality?

I remember the first one- I was a junior in high school, taking a bath after school.  It was a while after the “Charly” (a movie) incident, where I was humiliated about something that I had no control of.  People in school got their high from calling me mean names, while the best of them wondered what it for really meant. 

That day after school I sat in the tub, chill-laxing, and I spit some water through my mouth like a fountain, to the right side of the tub.  Then I got up, toweled off and asked my mom something.  She was in the office area of our house, with the door closed.  I knocked on it, and asked her a question, just to be able to find my voice echoing in front of the door.  I hadn’t been able to do that before, although what scared me most about the breakdown was the fact that I could hear my own voice.  This was the same thing, but not as scary. 

My mom answered me with an almost arrogant air of confidence.  Then I realized that something had changed- most evident the next day at school when people stopped being mean to me, for some reason.

I have come to realize over the years that what led to this may have been the soldier that paced in front of the television.  Not in reality.  Maybe that was when the boy with black hair passed our house and felt the energy. 

Maybe I am just crazy.  Maybe I spend a good majority of my days wondering what led to what in the circumstances of my life.

Maybe the world will change so that I have nothing to write about.  Anymore.