do you ever wonder how you’re going to die?
he asked me this as we drove down the interstate, highway cement rushing up to meet the tires and disappearing beneath us.
i didn’t want to have this conversation again. not here, when a slight jerk of the wheel could send us to our holy obliteration. pieces of us spread across the 401 like the grotesque confetti of a party that never began.
no, i told him, not really. i eyed the rising speedometer glowing on the dashboard of this car that he bought only two days ago. ceremoniously ditching the old one for these greater speeds, for the drone in our ears as our brains tried to comprehend that impossible movement.
he continued:
like, is it gonna be something boring,
like a stroke or some shit, or is it going to be
something epic, like murder?
the high-beams from an oncoming car illuminated the space between us. a chasm growing bigger as he sank deeper and deeper into his fantasies.
he wasn’t asking for my thoughts, only voicing his own. so i kept quiet. i felt squirmy, in the way i tend to when faced head-on with the fragility of my own existence.
this time, however, he seemed to be waiting for an answer. his gaze flitted dangerously over to me, slouched in the passenger’s seat. i don’t know, i shrugged. i just hope it’s not while in a hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines.
he laughed like this was the most amusing thing i’d ever said. maybe it was.
exactly.
his foot grew heavier on the gas. the car hummed its approval, the speedometer growing to dizzying digits.
i always told you i was gonna die
before i reached thirty.