Poetry and All Things Alike

Drive-thru Dreams

My eyes feel heavy as I stare at the lights of the car in front of me. I yawn tiredly, lean back in my seat and glance at the clock on the dashboard.

2:53 AM

God, what the hell am I doing here at 2:53 AM?

I put my face in my hands and drag them down my cheeks, desperately trying to stay awake. But quite honestly, I'd rather be back in bed at my parents house than a McDonalds drive thru.

So really, how did I get here?

It was about 12:30 when Georgie started crying. He woke us both up, and I went to get out of bed, but Brea just told me to try and get some rest. That she would take care of it.

But I couldn't sleep. Not with our three month old shrieking just in the next room.

Right when I was about to go get some Tylenol for the massive headache I was suffering, she came storming into our room.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She hissed, our wailing infant in her arms, his pale cheeks an inflamed pink, snot oozing it's way down to his upper lip.

"You're seriously trying to sleep? While I'm awake, taking care of OUR son, you're sleeping?" She sounded angry and appalled all at once.

Not much of what she said was processing in my pounding head, but hadn't she just told me two hours ago to try and get some rest

"I mean, I feel like this whole thing is just one sided. I carried this fucking thing inside of my body for 9 months, unable to see my friends or practically do anything. And were you there for me? No!" She shouted, Georgie sounded more and more unpleasant each second.

"While my feet were swelling and I was throwing up every morning, you decided that you just had to go to school. You just had to fucking go to school, when I was forced to carry this miserable little banshee because of you!"

I sat there, rubbing my fingers on the bridge of my nose while she went on about how I was the worst thing to ever happen to her, next to the 'miserable little shit' in her arms.

"At least make yourself useful or something and get me some food." She muttered, turning to leave the room.

I nodded and pulled myself to my feet, taking a moment to adjust to the floor.

"I'll cook something." I sighed, but she refused.

"Your cooking fucking sucks, Ryan. Haven't you realized that by now? God, you can't do anything right."

George sounded like he was about to burst into a million baby pieces.

I tried tuning her our as she listed everything she hated about me. My flaws, my insecurities. Anything to get under my skin.

She yelled for awhile longer, until I just got up and left. I didn't even listen or look back to see if she was still yelling or angry enough to chase me out the door. I just needed to get out.

Maybe I'll get her some McDonalds or something. I thought as I drug myself out to our crappy little Chevy. I bet her fat ass would like that.

I immediately felt guilty for even thinking that, but I was also too exhausted to dwell on it.

The tail lights in front of me pull forwards, and I move ahead to the pick-up window. As I wait for the employee to bring me the two double quarter pounders with an order of large fries, I stare at the steering wheel.

I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life, but possibly my worst one was being a father at 16.

But then again, I didn't think it would happen. Brea told me she was on the pill, and I trusted her. Why did I have to always assume that people won't lie?

My ears begin to ring, and I shut my eyes tight. "Shit." I grumble, my headache growing more and more severe. I probably should have ordered some coffee.

The more I sit there, my eyes shut tight and my head sending shock waves of pain coursing through my body, the stronger the desire grows to just.. Disappear.

When I finally look up to see the employee waiting at the pick-up window with my food, I realize that he must have been waiting for awhile. He has a funny look on his face. Like he's scared or ready to call the cops.

I apologize and thank him, then take the food. Although, I know Brea will never get it. There is no way in hell I'm going back to that apartment.

I pay him and set the greasy paper bag next to me carefully, and put the car in gear and begin to drive forward.

Where was I going to go? Who knows, but I knew I just wanted this life to be all over. Maybe my parents would take me back. Maybe I could go back to school and see my friends. Maybe I could be happy again.

I smiled at the idea. After spending the worst year of my life with that angry bitch, all I wanted was to be a normal kid again. The idea nearly made me giddy.

I began laughing, softly at first, but then I grew louder the more I thought about it. Going home! My mom, my dad! Oh man, it all just seemed too perfect. I wouldn't have to spend another moment with that bitch!

So I pulled out of the driveway.

And maybe I would have made it. Maybe my life would have gone back to normal.

But I would never know.

The second the car hit me, it was all gone.

I would never remember my mom or my dad and the way they loved each other. How much my friends cared. The way the moon glistened on Brea's hair the night I told her I was in love with her. Or our beautiful, innocent baby boy.

How could I have ever wanted to leave Georgie?

Would Brea be able to take care of him on her own? When he's in high school, will he cry and wish I was there or make dead daddy jokes with his friends? Teenage boys sure are ruthless, huh?

But then again, maybe it was all for the better.

Had I not been struck by that car, I would have run away. Left my son and fiancé behind. He would grow up thinking that his dad hated him.

And he would learn to hate me too.

Brea would tell him all of my flaws. That my cooking sucked. That I couldn't sing. That I was just a dead beat who couldn't do anything right, and that I was the worst thing to ever happen to her.

But they won't know. They'll never know.

Because when that car took my life, it also would take away all the hatred that Brea had ever had for me. She would cry and blame herself for my death. She would think that if maybe she had just thought things through, or that if she had just dealt with my shitty cooking, that maybe I would be alive.

And they would never know. Because my death was just an accident. Period.