His mind skipped and without fully realizing it, he was beneath the noon sky quickening his pace over the slowly declining road. Leaving the neighborhood, Stephen turned onto one of the old farm to market roads he rarely ventured to. The road, commonly used by cyclists, went on for miles before hitting the next residential community, and signs of development were sparse. He expected the workout to help calm his mind but he felt very much the opposite. Anger and despondency over the foreclosure notice fueled his pace and each mile took a lifetime to reach. He eventually found himself pressing heavy feet into the curvature of a respectable hill, when the rear of a parked gray sedan came into view.
The car had been left along the shoulder but parked in such a way that it was obstructing a large section of the lane. It was an older model with the muffler hung too low and the back right brake light masked with red tape. Other than being extremely dirty and unkempt, the car didn’t have any visible reason for why it should have been abandoned. As he came closer, Stephen could see the orange sticker on the driver side window indicating that the vehicle had been marked for tow by the city within the next week. The rear window leaned at a strong angle and the sun reflected off the tinted glass, making it impossible to gain visibility of the interior, impossible to know what was inside, impossible to know if the car was a threat.
Stephen hadn’t remembered stopping or even slowing down. All he knew was that he stood firmly about twenty yards away from the vehicle, unable to move forward. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, staring at this abandoned vehicle. His eyes felt dry, and he tasted the distinct salt of the desert’s sand in his mouth. As fear gripped him, his heart began pounding; far exceeding his running pulse.
Why is that car there? Who left it there? What are they planning?
Stephen looked around, scouring the horizon for reasons unknown to him. He crunched down on the feeling of sand gritting between his teeth. His head turned sharply to catch a glimpse of an unsuspecting onlooker; nowhere to be found. Forcing his body forward, he began moving again but it wasn’t to continue running. Confused but determined at the same time, purpose overwhelmed him and Stephen headed directly for the parked sedan.
Marching ahead he efficiently picked up a led pipe among the road’s debris which seemed to have been left there solely for his purpose. Poised next to the passenger side door, still sweating from the previous miles, his heart rate dropped and he stood in complete calmness. A deep breath, a look around. A gaze directly into the picturesque blue sky spreading across what was otherwise a serene afternoon. It was too familiar. He easily and all too clearly recalled a similar beautiful and horrible day on that Iraqi highway.
It was almost as if his arm was being controlled by someone else when it rose into the air. But there was no question who was in full control when the other arm came up to grip the pipe in a baseball-style swing. The resulting force exploded though the passenger side window with a pop that sent glass ricocheting throughout the car’s interior. That beautiful Iraqi day had brutally delivered more than just a bright sun and gentle breeze. It had kicked off a lifetime worth of pain. Stephen brought the pipe up again and delivered a crushing blow to the front windshield. The physical pain of the improvised explosive devise whose scars would never leave, the pain of cancer that rocked and nearly ruined their family, the loss of brothers in arms he would never see again, words to his mother he could never take back. Rage erupted from his core and flowed out of him in the form of a guttural scream. With all his strength, he brought the pipe down onto the car again and again and again, desperate to push out the pain of that beautiful day.
Stephen couldn’t remember how long he spent destroying the car. All he would later recall was that the car would be completely unrecognizable to the owner. Exhausted, he dropped his arms into his knees. A large slither of shattered safety glass from the windshield slipped off the dash and crunched onto the rough pavement. Despite being shattered, it kept its form and lay still; broken but held together in one piece. The pipe slipped from the grip of both hands and fell onto the floor with a loud rim shot which echoed in the silence.
Winded from his exertion, Stephen took in deep breaths of relief. He ignored the pipe and curiously stared at the fallen piece of windshield; broken but held together in one piece. “Damn, you’re one strong piece of glass.” He observed the unresponsive shards bound together in a mesmerizing spider web of damage. “Well, maybe you’re not so strong, but whatever that stuff is they put in there to keep you together… tough, really tough.”
He continued to huff with exhaustion when leaning over further caused his eye to meet the sun’s radiant reflection bouncing off the broken glass. Squinting with irritated blindness, he fussed at the glass, “How can something so broken still shine so bright?”
What was it his mother had told him? Something about how when the strength of the sun shines through us it opens our eyes and allows us to see the needs of others. It was something about reflections and life. He was pretty sure it was more of her Jesus-talk.
Well, the sun is doing nothing but blinding me right now, Mom.
Exasperated, Stephen thought again about the prospect of losing his house. Wasn’t it enough for him to lose his mother and have to deal with his daughter’s ongoing health issues? Hadn’t he done his part by going to war and nearly dying at the hands of unknown fanatics? What more was he supposed to go through? Why couldn’t he ever catch a breath long enough for them to get ahead in this world?
“When am I supposed to get a break?” He shouted uncontrollably at the broken glass. Relieving his back from the awkward and uncomfortable hunch, he stood, turned towards home, placed the pain and burdens of his mind squarely on his own shoulders and began walking.
He woke the next morning wrecked with guilt at the immense damage he had done. Stephen jumped out of bed early the following morning and drove to where the abandoned car had been. The sedan wasn’t there. The only reminders of his temporary dive into violent vandalism were the remnants of glass shards which blanketed the ground around the car’s absence.
Distress continued to hang over him as Stephen returned to his own driveway and began walking towards his front door. Guilt turned to embarrassment as he saw Tom standing, not standing, blocking the front door to the house.
“Good… morning, Dad?” Stephen announced hesitantly. He felt like the soon-to-be grounded teenager who had just been caught lying about his whereabouts. He stood expectantly as Tom limped his hindered body towards his son.
Tom, expressionless, raised the one arm which still obeyed him and opened his palm. A set of keys rested among the aged fingers.
Unsure about his father’s purpose and clarity, Stephen dismissed Tom’s action. “Dad, I don’t really want to go for a drive right now.”
Stephen could see twitches in the muscles of Tom’s face attempt to convey an expression. The man’s lips did not move but Stephen could see them turning pale, almost as if the blood were being pushed out of them. It was scowl. Stephen realized that his father was actually scowling at him.
“Dad, I’m sorry. We can drive around later but I really just want to go inside and have some breakfast.”
Tom rolled the keys around in his finger, held them by the key ring and pressed the set directly in front of Stephen’s face.
Taking a step back to get a better look, Stephen realized the keys did not belong to his father’s car.
“Dad? Are those your house keys?”
Tom gripped the keys and rolled them around in his clenched hand to jingle the keys.
“You want me to take you to your house?”
Tom’s back arched as if from irritation and he began adamantly shaking the keys level with Stephen’s face.