The Cold Inside
By AL BRUNO III
Monday January 9, 1995
-Fred paused at an intersection and shook his head in confusion. This wasn't the way home at all. He must have been driving on autopilot because all of a sudden he was heading towards school. He made a U-turn and started back.
-The Corvette was rocketing along Interstate 87 at almost 90 miles an hour. Rap music was blaring from the stereo. Fred was so stunned he almost lost control of the car. This wasn't the way home, this wasn't even close.
-Now it was classical music assaulting his ears and now he was totally lost. His car was bumping along on a worn single lane dirt road in the middle of the woods someplace. Fred slammed on the brakes and tried to catch his breath. With one fumbling hand he tried to switch off the radio but only managed to crank it all the way up.
-“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
-Fred found himself back on the turnoff from Delaware Avenue to Grove Street. The dashboard clock told him it was almost 6 A.M.. He gunned the engine and sped home, not caring if he woke up half the neighborhood. Was this what it felt like to be going crazy? Was this-
-He started to weep when he found himself back at the intersection of Delaware Avenue and Grove Street. This couldn’t be happening, it was like a bad dream. His every muscle tensed up as he made his way back home again, his jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. With each familiar mailbox that passed he became more and more certain it was going to happen again.
-Fred whimpered at the glare of sunlight in his eyes. He was back out on the road, back in his car. It was a little after 7AM. He was waiting at a red light on Western Avenue, heading towards school.
-Car horns were blaring. The engine was roaring. His hands were off the wheel. The stone archway that held the bronze gates of the Blessed Heart School was speeding towards him.