The Nodamic Driver (1/3)
Let me preface this telling of my story, or rather group of stories, that this is all a recounting. Notes, anxiety-ridden scramblings and drawings all translated into what I can only describe as a being I wish to understand more. Take this current telling as a hook, to maybe see if I should further pursue such interests or just leave them be where I've found myself now. I shall begin now.
Many years ago, before I had found my footing in adulthood, living alone and working a dead-end job—in search of the next creative draw I'd have to hopefully pull me from the cycle, I found myself living out of my car. No, this story and its title do not refer to me, I stayed within a very rough area I was comfortable with and would be better described a squatter of the parking lots than that of a nomad; but that doesn't mean my experience, or what I know, is limited to this small township.
On this particular night, I needed to charge my phone in a popular gas station chain, trying hard to dodge the stares and glares of other, paying customers. I hadn't the money. Twenty percent rolled into twenty-five in thirty minutes, still too slow for my taste. The clock read 11:46; soon I'd have to get settled in my car again to be awake for work the next day, when in the corner of my eye I spotted a young man sitting in the adjacent corner of the eatery section. Dressed in all black warm wear, seemingly for work, glasses and a Grey beanie perched on his head. He was staring intently at a Sudoku book.
With no apparent reason other than instinct and gut, I was pulled to talk to him. The way his lips puckered as he looked deflatingly at the paper, his lack of ability to write down the next number showing, before shooting up stiffly with a look of contempt, writing, and then going back to thinking. I stood up, curious, and walked my way over.
"A bit young to be enjoying sudokus, wouldn't you think?"
He looked up cautiously, before looking more confused than I. "And why's that?"
"Well...I just mean there's so much more entertainment to get outside of books nowadays, it's surprising to see your age enjoy such intricacies."
He smiled gleefully before stating very plainly, "Electronics are tools, real experience comes outside of them."
"Smart kid, and how old are you?"
"19."
This kid hadn't even graduated high school more than two years ago and seemed to enjoy life...differently. Then another question struck my mind.
"Don't you have a home to go to and enjoy these things? Not trying to be rude, but isn't all this noise distracting?"
"Far from it! I find it comforting, just observing as I enjoy myself. A simple past time really. Have you ever taken up just watching?"
"W-watching?"
"Stepping away from your moment, looking at someone else's, thinking about what they may be going through, you know? It's fun! Like creating characters for your own book!"
This kid was different. I liked the way he handled himself, at least so far, but struggled to grasp his situation. I guess he was right.
"So, what are you doing?" I then looked to his right and saw his device charging from the public outlet. He seemed no different from me.
"Enjoying what little life we have. And you?"
"Same," I said before drifting off to the handful of ideas he just made me think of, in just a few minutes as well. Was this kid living like me? Out of his car? Or did he walk here? Why wasn't he bothered by how late it was, for he surely had work tomorrow...right?
"Too narrow-minded most people, it's all about mindset going in. I live homeless and haven't lead away from happy in the slightest bit."
An answer. Strange. "And why? Were you kicked out like me? If so, I feel it kid, just wanna be understood but no room left for understanding."
"Nah, I wanted to explore."
"You left your home on purpose?! Kid, pardon not knowing your situation, but are you dense? Or ungrateful? Or maybe even insane?"
"Maybe. But why do I care?"
"Wh-wha-what do you mean?"
"Am I happy?"
At this, my mind blanked. Some lived their best lives impoverished, or at least with very little. Some felt the need for money. Some were weighed down by their money, or lack thereof. Some outright rejected its use. He didn't let this bother him whatsoever. Not the craziest idea, but he was setting himself up for ruin.
I had to respond. "I...I suppose so, yes."
"Exactly, I have everything I'd ever need at my convenience. I try my hardest to make others' days better so I have no other complaints. All I need is survival and I'm happy!"
"What..what about comfortability though? Isn't it stressful, or scary?"
At this, the boy's face got quite serious as he looked at me, not losing focus on my gaze one bit. "There are far more important stressors in this world, sir, than simply where I'll sleep and how safe I am."
A shiver brushed over me as I regretted not bringing my work parka from my previous housing situation. The kid was going through a lot and I didn't want to disrespect that whatsoever. I decided it was best to leave our exchange there. "I'm sorry kid, I didn't mean to disrespect you. I wish you well, truly. I hope you have a safe night."
His mood switched quickly from solemn to happiness as he brightened. "Thank you, sir! I wish you a safe and wonderful night as well! Always ask: 'Am I happy?'"
I walked at a normal pace, out the door and past the glass pane that made my being vulnerable to his eyes, before crossing the threshold where he couldn't see me anymore and darted for my car. If this situation were isolated and stayed as normal as it could with this one time, I wouldn't be writing about it. It hadn't.
Many days prior to this event occurring, I saw him again. It was only the open road this time, but the same bright-red 2006 Chevy Cobalt, sputtering alongside other cars on some lazy trip to an unforeseeable point B; he had no clue where he'd be going. I was on a different path entirely, but this now made me question a little more about his whereabouts and where he planned to end up. I could have asked but something was off about him, so I turned to Google, preferably in the local area.
Posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon posts upon
Apologies, my computer froze for some time. There were many people with claims they saw a 2006 Chevy Cobalt, same bright-red, same young kid, driving by them and ending up at local gas stations, talking to locals, even inviting others to talk to him somewhere else. But it wasn't just local. It spanned the whole of the country, even odd sightings in Eastern countries.
This is when my interest was piqued. Past the odd way he talked and seeing him out and about, this kid seemed unique in a more...worldly sense. Something about him wasn't normal, like basic human necessities only went so far for him. Like he had a different perspective. Did it matter in the grand scheme of things? No. What I came to learn is nothing far from a curse, and a direct reminder of why curiosity killed the cat. But will I share with you? If you so desire.
I dug deeper, reading stories people had from when they talked to him. What he had to say. What it made them think about. It was exhilarating to say the least, but I struggled to believe their authenticity, until of course having my own experience with the boy. I shall be posting many of the stories I recall throughout my telling of events to broaden your scope of what this may hold.
This is that point.
THE LABYRINTH
*I'll be quoting the posts as I find them for recollection*
"I....can't possibly ever describe....what it is I just saw today. My heart is still beating at a rapid pace. I couldn't possibly begin to describe....her...her mutilated body. I still struggle not to gag at the thought.
I met this boy at a gas station. He was quite nice and approachable, nothing off-putting necessarily, from looks at least. I decided to walk up to him and strike up a conversation, talking about music, feeling truly free, being creative, so many other curious topics. I made jokes about his Sudoku, and he poked fun at my anime interest and being a girl. It felt genuine.
Then he had a question.
'Is your mom the weight heavy on you?'
My heart skipped twice. I'd never mentioned her since I left, never thought of her or that evil smile since, never dared speak the name; never said a word to this boy. 'How did you...' I stopped.
He was looking at me intently. Not in hopes of getting a reaction. He knew. Should I focus on it? Unimportant. I didn't think those thoughts. Had grown past thinking about her as a whole.
'Yes. It is.'
'This way.' He started towards the gas station door and turned only to smile and gesture for me to and through the door first. We continued out into the night sky, shoes clicking from metal walkways, to stone, to then soft grass; deeper into the forest we went.
We walked on, taking notice of resting points, until there it was, her trailer. The boy was grinning, as though he had planned for it to be here, but truly why was it here? This was all wrong, calmed plainly by:
'Go on, you know where the key is. Take a visit, free of mortality risks.'
'What do you mean? Mortality?'
'You'll know it'sn its relevant. Go on, I can't join. This is your experience and yours only.'
I struggled to find something else to say before turning back to the trailer that now stood in front of us, steps leading to a brightened front door; the living room light must be on. The trailer of my mom. My neglectful, narcissist of a mother; biological all the same.
I walked up to the door and let myself in.
Silence. Nothing but still air in the immediate living room, but an even more pungent smell in the direction of the kitchen. Always expired or close to. I moved the dust-filled air out of the way as I ked about the front of the house, afraid to enter the hallway. To go towards her room.
I had to make my way there though. I walked through the moss that now layered the old carpet, squishing and spuelching as I moved forward. I took notes of many spider webs, littering the corners of the ceiling, clearly occupied. The torn wallpaper, stained walls. I continued, past her door as quickly as possible, to my old room.
I had a brother. It was nice, for a time; but then I became difficult and argumentative with my mom. Lies were told, I was gas ray rocked. No more conversation, just a distant husk of a boy. Animated with his friends but when I try to talk to him......nothing. The loft bed I built for him stood still, mattress stained, aluminum pipes bending and stripped of their black paint. My loft no different.
The rest of my belongings were most likely thrown away, as expected with how she behaved. I noted the withered carpet I'd almost grown to love the feel of; I felt the weight of the lies that this place held. I collapsed to my knees and wept. I wept, until:
Click, screeeech.
Her door was open. I could feel her beckoning me to come closer. I felt rage build up inside of me, always drunk hiding in that room and even sober failing to think about anyone but yourself. I couldn't take it anymore.
I got up and started for her room; she had no control over me anymore. She may beckon but this was my choice; to face her was my choice.
Breaking through the thick air that hung in her abode, I took stock of what I was going into. Her dresser with its mirror sat on the left wall—usual; makeups, moisturizers, lotions and more occupied the free space. Next to her bed, to the right of the window, sat a table cluttered with water bottles and meds to alleviate any pain she was in—soreness and occasional headaches that were. More clothes sat in the closet to the right of her bed foot; then there was the bed.
Sat on top of the blankets and sheets was a bundle of ivory-white strands, weaving together to form different shades of gray. Almost painted on this bundle of white was a black marking, that of a waxing crescent. The maiden groaned inside of her cocoon, sensing my presence. It was now or never; I stood there as strong as I could and waited for the horrors to come.
The door behind me had closed.