Through the Gap

Part One - The House

1

Like almost everyone else on this lonely, helpless rock, I too subscribe to the notion of normality. We humans prefer things that are well organized and that make sense. Everyone likes to feel a joyful anticipation for the next day, the next week, the vistas beyond the imaginary next big turn in our everyday lives. We like to think that tomorrow will be just like today, only, possibly, a little better. We need a pattern in life so much that we tend to put up a blackout curtain between ourselves and the fact of living equals to being strapped into a race car speeding toward a titanium wall without a steering wheel or pedals. And nobody ever mentions the explosives in the trunk.

This was nowhere near how I felt that day. Then, I felt like the next day would be better and the next week would top even that and so on. Moving house in itself does that to you, but moving lives makes you feel so empowered yet so powerless at the same time. It can only be described as a surreal experience. It's basically being on drugs, but lasts for weeks and is full of anticipation and dread, in just the perfect mix .I have no idea how long the drive from our old home actually took, but I still remember the colors being unrealistically vivid. When I think back on it, I always picture myself going through an impressionist painting. Maybe it was just fatigue. A lengthy drive can get the better of you on most days, let alone one where you have to mentally prepare yourself to wake up the next morning in an entirely new life. And all this angst while you made the choice to leave everything behind.

That was exactly what I did. I made a choice, and this was me, putting the pedal to the metal, trying to end up at the finish line where I could start living a better life. On the absolute plus side, however, the house we snatched up was a genuine killer. We were going to enjoy it so much it hurt thinking about it. Just my wife and I, the two of us. I tried to stop myself from repeatedly spiraling through all the ways we would improve on the place, but my mind wouldn't stop going there. That house. That life. I could almost touch it.

I had no idea how long it took, but I finally noticed Angela, my wife, staring a hole into my right temple. She might have been at it for a while, judging by the weird tingling sensation that had come over me. It wasn't sudden; it was like slowly boiling the water under a frog. By the time I realized it was happening, she might have been awake for minutes.

"Liking what you see?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. Not that there was much variety to be aware of. Sometimes it seemed it would almost bend, but then it didn't. No wonder I was in a trance.

"I sure do, handsome," she replied playfully, her voice still groggy.

"I meant the view." I said, nodding forward, "Like, outside the car."

"I know what you meant honey," she said, letting loose a colossal yawn, "I love that too." She added.

"I am so excited I can't even describe it." I said, tapping on the steering wheel while she hoisted herself up in her seat, making a painful grimace. It must have been terribly uncomfortable sleeping like that in shotgun, but she insisted.

"I can see that." She said, looking at me and then out the window on her side, "Oh my God, the sun is almost gone already. How long was I out?" she asked, rubbing her eyes gently.

"About four hours I'd say." I said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard, "I am not entirely sure, though."

"Commuting is going to be a bitch." She said.

"It is only for a few weeks, anyway." I said, glancing over at her as she was nibbling at her fingernails. She looked nervous all of a sudden. "What?" I asked.