The Last of Grinoldy

Car Story

  Those days, the days where I was walking each day from the bus stop to my home in that apartment. Within those days there are only a few moments that I can remember, the moments that managed to make their way into my memory despite my sleep deprivation techniques, and the endless internal shouting to drown out the everything. Of course, one of those memories I have already spoken of, the day I crossed that street, and unlike any other day, someone, something, challenged my beliefs. Internally, I had always assumed it proper to cross the street, after all my apartment was on the other side, however a new perspective soon believed itself to be proper enough to stand against me. The wailing echo of the driver far behind, wailing against me, wailing against my thought, every piece of that horn was weaponized against me. Where did I stand? Well, by this point I was in the grass, but truly, where did I stand? Nothing before had ever made me consider whether it was right for me to cross the street, why then did this car make me reconsider? My existence, the existence of myself in action, in action across his reality. I moved through it, and although I took only a small portion of his reality, still I was there. My Car Story, as I’ve always called it, also can be called his Pedestrian Story. The story of someone who crossed far ahead of him. The story of someone who dared to both take his space and give it. His horn changed the world, as in: my reality. Did my walking change his world? The answer is yes, my existence led to him believing his only option to continue his own existence was to push the horn, push the horn and challenge my position.