I can’t think of anything else to do so I start making my way back home. My empty and quiet home.
Chapter 6
Experiencing what has easily been the most bizarre day of my life, I can’t wait to get home, have some dinner, and wake up forgetting this day ever happened.
As I turn left onto the main road that leads to the highway, I still look both ways for oncoming traffic. I wonder how long it will take before I’m convinced I won’t see anyone around this area in the foreseeable future. I think back to that cat and how strange it was that I only saw one freakin’ cat all day. That was the only living, breathing thing that met my eyes. No people, no birds, no dogs, no ants, no Loch Ness monsters, just one stray black cat searching for its next meal.
Perhaps the cat had some kind of magical powers. Maybe it was a secret wizard cat that could turn into a human at any moment. If that were true that would mean I must have special powers too, but I know that’s not true. I’m just your normal, average person
It’s not that I’m unhappy; I have a good life and I’m grateful for what I have. I’m so blessed to be married to someone like Abby who I really don’t deserve. I have no idea why she picked me when there are so many better guys out there.
That’s why the situation I’m in seems so strange. Why ordinary me alone here? Not me and a handful of other people; just one single human being and a cat alone in this little speck of Earth. Did I lose the memo saying you’re supposed to disappear out of site today? The only thing I do know for sure is I want this day to be over.
I look at the speedometer and see my new standard eighty-five miles per hour. I would put it on cruise control but my Cavalier doesn’t even have that. In fact, I still have to manually roll my window up or down which embarrasses Abby every time she’s in the car with me.
I breeze past the little town I stopped in earlier. I think going there first reduced some of the shock I would have experienced if I had gone straight to Chesterfield. Granted, I still freaked out and kicked a nursing home window in, but at least I didn’t blow up the building in rage.
I look down at my gas gauge, “Shit!” My emergency light is on. Having experienced this several times before, I know this means I can still go about 25 miles before I run completely out of gas. Unfortunately I still have about thirty or thirty-five miles to go. How on Earth did this happen? I remember figuring in that I would be able to go down and back, and still have time for some sightseeing. Then it hits me — it’s something I remember reading about on the government’s fuel economy website. For every five miles per hour you go over fifty-five, your car’s gas mileage goes down. I can’t remember the exact numbers, but I do recall it was a pretty noticeable mileage difference between fifty-five and seventy miles per hour. I can’t imagine how poor the gas mileage I got was while going ninety-five freakin’ miles per hour!
This is the last thing I need, my shitty situation getting ever worse. Immediately, I take the car down to fifty-five miles per hour. Doing this feels unintuitive, as I want to drive fast and get back as soon as possible. If all the government’s testing says fifty-five miles per hour is the most efficient though, that’s how fast I’m going to go. Of course, they could just be making up those statistics so people will drive slower. I’ve learned not to believe everything I hear.
If there were a semi-truck on the road, I would be coasting behind it right now. I’ve heard you can save ten to forty percent on gas mileage that way. Exactly what I need to get me all the way home. This is all wasted thought though because there are no semis or even other cars on the road. It’s just my little Cavalier coasting along on an empty road.
I have no clue what I’ll do if I run out of gas. If this was any other day, I could just call AAA Road Side Assistance. They know me on an almost first-name basis. During high school especially it was the most valuable gift I received each year for Christmas.
The realization of how screwed I am takes its toll. I reach for my cell phone to see if by some miracle the service is back up, but I get even more anxious when I realize my battery died. Abby hates it when I drive without my cell phone and I’m not a huge fan of it either. You never know when something is going to happen. Even though I haven’t had service and still haven’t seen anyone today, I wish I still had my cell phone working. The moment the service is back up, I had planned on calling everyone I know until someone picked up. And if nobody did answer, I would start calling random numbers until someone told me what was going on. The thought of tossing my worthless phone out the window crosses my mind but I calm myself down enough so I don’t do something I’ll regret. This phone could come in handy later.
Adding to my concerns is the realization that I can’t just pull over to the side of the highway and hope someone drives by to help. I’ve never hitchhiked before, but if there were ever a time to join the club it would be now. Even if I didn’t hitchhike I could at least beg for gas or have them drive me to the nearest gas station. Not like that would matter when the gas stations aren’t working. I’m screwed if I run out of gas; there’s no other way to put it.
I begin doing the calculations in my head — if I’m ten miles short of my house when I run out, and I walk at a two-miles-per-hour pace, which I think I recall reading is a pretty average pace, that’s five hours of walking. That is less than splendid news considering I can’t remember the last time I walked one mile. It’s starting to feel like the beginning of a horror movie, a genre I’m not too fond of. Paying to see something that makes me uncomfortable and anxious never made much sense to me. If I do get stuck having to walk home, at least I’ll have a few hours of daylight for the journey. I’m trying to think of any positives I can at this point.
I look over at the exit sign and see I now have fifteen miles left to go. “Come on, Chevy! Take me home.” This car and I have battled through many snowstorms and other adventures, always getting me to where I need to go. It’s become a sense of pride for me.
Looking down at my speedometer it still says I’m going fifty-five, which feels unbearably slow. I have to fight the urge to floor it and make a mad dash to get home. Each mile feels like it takes forever and I make a promise to myself to never get in this situation again.
Ten miles to go. I’ve already reached my anticipated point of failure. Every mile from here on is icing on the cake. I look at the gas gauge and it points even farther left than what is considered empty. The red warning light is a reminder of anxious times from years past.
Five miles to go. I know it has to be any second now. It’s been several years since I’ve run out of gas, but I know there isn’t much time left. Five miles isn’t too bad. That’s only a couple hours of walking. “Come on Chevy, keep pushing. Just a few more miles.” I think about how five more minutes of driving would save me three hours. Oh, how underappreciated cars truly are. I touch my hand to my forehead and notice I’m sweating. I’m actually sweating, I’m so anxious. My heartbeat feels like it’s pounding through my chest. Regardless of what happens, I know this experience will take at least a couple months off my life from the stress.
One mile to go. I see the exit up ahead. Oh thank the Lord! How did this miracle ever happen? One mile of highway to go, and then maybe a couple more miles once I get off the highway. I’m looking at about an hour of walking time at the most. I start to get greedy now, thinking I’ll make it all the way home. It’s not just the walking; it’s my car being stranded on the road that bothers me too. If I wake up tomorrow and everything is somehow back to normal, I don’t want my car towed. Of all the things to be worried about, it even surprises me that this is toward the top of my list.