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Alexander opened his eyes, dragged from sleep by the ticking of his alarm clock and the noise filtering into his room through the open window. Still, some feeling of uneasiness, an inexplicable reluctance to become fully conscious, kept him in that particular state of lethargy somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. The sound of birds chirping, children playing, horns honking, all hinted at a beautiful sunny May day. Horns honking...that sound sent shivers up his spine, as if it allowed memories that he might never again be able to forget.
These vague, ill-defined feelings made this particular morning different, as though somehow disappointing. Alexander opened his eyes once more and made a futile effort to concentrate. It was as if his memory had shattered into a thousand fragments that he couldn't put back together all at once - a piece always seemed to be missing. Ironically, it was like comparing his state of mind to ...the shattering of a windshield.
Little by little, the recent chain of events came back to him. The images were clear, forever to remain engraved in his mind, a reminder of a mistake that would haunt Alexander the rest of his life.
One Saturday - was it only two or three weeks ago? Never mind, it wasn't important. He remembered that day, so hot and sunny, a heat wave right in the middle of April, the kind of day that makes you long for summer vacation.
Alexander picked up the phone and called Patrice, Miguel, Kevin and Justin, who all told him the same thing. "Sorry guy, but I've got other plans!" It looked as if he was going to have to go alone. So what? It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful evening. Besides, if past experience was any indication, he was sure to have a new conquest on his arm before the evening was out. Alexander took a quick shower and then, to the strident beat of his favourite music, carefully chose his outfit for the evening. For supper, he grabbed some cold meat, washing it down with a few quick beers. Whistling, he took down the keys to his mother's car from among a pile of assorted shapes and sizes. And then the thought crosses his mind, skimming its surface like a bird in flight. Whenever his parents went away for the weekend, his mother always left him her car keys. Would she have given him as much freedom if she had known how much he liked to party it up, to drink too much?
Alexander thought no more about it. He didn't want to load himself down with a burden of responsibility. He paid his reason no heed and let his instincts take over. He was just a guy on the look-out for a good time. From that point on, Alexander lost all train of coherent thought. He remembered the lights, an alarming array of lights. They ranged through the entire spectrum of colours, each one different from all the rest. Frozen, moving, peaceful, stressful, blinking, leaping, light and dark. The strobes, the neon tubes and signs, all combined in a frivolous disco celebration of light and colour. Each time he raised his glass, it took on a different hue. A sea of heads and bodies thrashed about in a fashion as far out as the music they danced too. Despite the ear splitting music, despite the loud buzzing of thousands of words spoken by thousands of voices competing in an incomprehensible cacophony, he felt as if he were completely deaf - deafer and more isolated than an oyster in its shell a hundred thousand leagues under the sea.
And then, he saw "Her". She had told him her name, but this morning it slipped his mind. Nothing. Nothing but a blank. As smooth and pure as the sheets that surrounded him. Purity.
Tiny, dark curls framed an oval face with almond-shaped eyes of blue, infinitely gentle and peaceful. He had approached her, she had smiled, and their conversation had gone from there. She liked art, especially the paintings of Lemieux - his lonely ladies, his cold, pale expanses. She would have liked to have known Mozart, to have leaned on his grand piano and revelled in his music in the salons of the Viennese court.
In her company, the hours flew by. Alexander surprised himself with his own talkativeness and practicality blessed the glass he held for his good fortune. So, when the world of coloured lights gave way to a harsh, blinding whiteness, he was taken by surprise. The music had become a deafening silence. The spell has dissolved like a house of cards, as if he had blinked his eyes and found himself in some other place far away.
It was time to stand up, get the
car, take her home, and go home himself. He didn't think
he could do it. The floor felt like shifting sand under
his feet, and the room blurred around him like a
reflection in a cloudy pool. Even so, he felt even less
like admitting that he couldn't do it. Just as he had
several hours
earlier when he took his mother's keys, Alexander again silenced
the voice of his reason.
The road, an interminable dark expanse stretching out before him with its trees and its telephone poles lined up like vigilant sentinels along its narrow, twisting, course. In the distance, clusters of city lights resembled tiny glass alleys, so fragile that the slightest touch of a finger would burst them apart, leaving only a trace of silver in your hand. She talked, seemed happy. Short silence fell between them and Alexander heard a click as she undid her seatbelt. She slid down a little on the seat, let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. While she seemed to be enjoying her little rest, he felt as if each of his sense was fighting a losing battle to stay alert. The seatbelt was too tight around his waist, and he could no longer clearly see the white median. The car did a few fish-tails, and he realized he could no longer control it. Suddenly, as if the road had abruptly decided to change direction, an unexpected curve loomed ahead. Two blinding headlights he couldn't avoid, a short piercing cry close to his ear, and a hellish crash. His windshield was in pieces, the place beside him was empty, and everywhere there was blood and bits of metal; later came the blackness, like a nest of pain. Physical suffering, mental anguish.
Time went by, time without measure or meaning.
He would have given anything to be able to change the course of events. If only this whole ordeal was just a story, words on a page. He would have taken his pen, crossed out two or three paragraphs, changed a few lines and written a beautiful ending where everyone lived happily ever after.
Why did this have to happen to him? Why? Who was to blame for his pain - society, those in charge, the two blinding headlights at the bend in the road? Was it "Her", too beautiful, too intoxicating, or the glass he'd held in his hand all night long? Was it them or perhaps, was it him?
Lying there, his legs lifeless, her death on his conscience. Alexander finally understood. He realized that the solution began with him; that the moment he got behind the wheel, he was in control; that he was free to break the rules of the road as long as he was prepared to accept the consequences. He knew that he should have taken it seriously when he picked up the keys to his mother's car and a warning bell went off in his head. He had the opportunity to behave responsibly but had chosen the easy way out. Easy, that is to say, at first, but far more difficult in the end.
Too many lives had already been senselessly lost. Could anything be done to stop it? The solution began with him, as it begins with all of us.
He had never felt more mature and responsible than he did that May morning. It was of little consolation to him, but a consolation nevertheless. He tried to move his legs but the pain was too great. Physical pain had restricted his movements, but emotional pain had allowed him to take a giant step forward. In spite of everything, a strange peacefulness came over him. This bright, fresh morning filled with the uninhibited joyfulness of birds singing and children playing, made him want to begin all over again. He finally closed the door on the easy, heedless, carefree time in his life that had ended in such tragedy. True, he had come around too late; he had made an error in judgement which would forever haunt him, but he had come through it with the knowledge and insight that would enable him to start anew. And this morning, even if he though of "Her", even if he suffered acutely, body and soul, even if the very thought of the word seem a little ridiculous under the circumstances, this morning, strangely, Alexander could call himself "happy".
©1999 TG Magazine/Le Magazine TG
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