Is it fiction?
When I stepped out of the building I could already tell it was going to rain. I hailed a cab wondering if I could remember where I parked last night. Just as the black cab came to a stop along side the curb the rain started to fall. I noticed the driver had a t-shirt on that said, "Fuck you. You're Irish!"
Yes you are my red-headed friend. I thought as I hurriedly opened the door and sat down. Before I buckled up or even shut the door, the ginger-haired driver sped off.
"Where you going?"
Far away from here.
"34th and Iroquois. Next to Nick's Auto."
"You-got it." He seemed to say. I couldn't tell if he was actually speaking or if he was just accustomed to running over his words like small animals out on country roads.
I couldn't tell you how long I was in the cab. What was supposed to be a 20 minute drive, ended up feeling like 2 hours. I started to wonder if my red-haired friend was actually human or not. Nothing seemed too real outside the windows, I couldn't understand if people had actually changed or if that's how I saw them, or rather remembered them to begin with. No one looked in my general direction at any of the intersections, even though I stared with the same intensity as an observatory's telescope.
My mind drifted back to the driver and I couldn't help but focus on the stereotype of people which such hair. Does this fucker even have a soul? Don't answer that. Who knew purgatory was going to be in a cab with a unintelligible-mick-bastard? I bet a potato, he's Catholic. I smirked. It could be worse, he could be a goomba mother-fu--
"See somethin'-funny?" The driver asked, lording over me with his bushy red eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.
"Yeah. Well, fuck yo--You're here." I wasn't sure if he was trying to hide his toothy-grin.
He stopped directly behind my car.
How the--
"Eighteen fifty four." I gave him a twenty plus two wondering how or if he knew which car was mine, or if he knew why I was here at all.
"Thanks." I said stepping out into the rain.
"Sinn Féin." And with a wave he drove off.
When I got in my car I could tell the the clouds were just about to roll away. Give or take twenty minutes. I put the radio on low and drove to the cemetery.
"We ourselves." I said talking over the radio. Stopping at an intersection and knowing the rest of the car was empty outside of myself, I couldn't help but wonder if it should be translated as we (by) ourselves or if the degree of loneliness those words implied were for me. I rolled down the passenger window quickly before the light went green and threw my flask at a parked car's window.
Without really caring I ran the light before it went green. My only goal at this point was the dark hills. I realized that even though there is a city just beyond the trees behind me: I am all alone in the night. Just like the people I like to visit.
They're not going to wake up and talk you, you know?
I know.
You'll join them someday. Everyone will.
I know.
And you'll still be alone in the night.
So will you. I rolled down the window taking in fresh air, occasionally glancing at the stars wondering if any hawks beyond myself were still awake. Do hawks even exist at night anymore? I knew the answer, or maybe it was just an answer.
The back of my mind continued to make noise,
Those hawks are gone.
As I drove slowly by the monolithic stones, I hoped that I was wrong.
On my way back to the office, I wasn't sure if I ever could be totally wrong or totally right.
But you could be totally gone.
"Not without coffee first." I said aloud as I pulled into a diner. The diner was well lit. I took a seat at the bar and ordered coffee. A couple around my age or older sat a few seats away. The woman sat further than myself. Her hair and dress were red. More gingers. Clown convention in town or some-shit? I pulled coffee cup close to my face to hide my bias. The coffee was extraordinarily good. I put the cup down on the counter, staring at the woman and man who paid me no attention as I thought about the cab and purgatory.
"Is this how you remembered people?" I said under my breath pinching my left-hand under the counter for a reality check.
Maybe it's only how you wanted to remember them?
I stood up, paid, and left without wasting words or gestures.
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