I’ve never been in an accident before. And I wont for another couple of days, hour’s maybe.
    I pulled into the nearest rest stop; my tank was running low. All gas stations look the same, run down and old. They aren’t scary until you’re in the middle of nowhere, when it’s just you and some minimum wage creep, who you always assume to be planning his attack. But as I got to thinking about it, with my current position I wasn’t much better than that guy just skimming by on minimum wage. I’m sure to anyone else looking in; I was just as creepy as that gas station worker. Maybe I could even be the type of person you avoid eye contact with, because I could snap at any moment, you’ll always think you’re lucky enough to be that one person that it all comes down to. You think that your death will be the last on my list, and maybe, you’re right. Because even if I don’t take out my horrible childhood on you, I may still be that same crazy serial killer, which means you just narrowly escaped your death. Good job.
But at this point in time no one else was around to judge either of us. And in each of our realities, as I’m driving off, we’re both narrowly escaping a horrible fate that we’ll trust to land on someone else.
        It’s just like my old English teacher said, reality is perception and how you interpret it.  And the reality of others, strangers or best friends, is what you interpret it to be. Even though what you see may not be true to them it’s real to you and that’s what matters. If I see you as someone out to get me, you’re out to get me. And if you don’t attack me, I avoided it through avoiding you. And that’s my life lately, thoughts on perception of reality. Thanks to a teacher I didn’t even really like.
    The road is almost empty and even if it’s not, I’m still the only one who has a life outside of Route 24. I’m the only one with problems and those few cars are the only ones who know I’m here, meaning we share a type of bond. And I’ll forever recollect this moment’s memories with complete strangers, on this torn up road, who will never know my name.  Though I secretively and ridiculously wished that one of the faces I couldn’t make out would by chance know my family. And they would call them up and mention they saw me out on Route 24 in an old beat up 1966 Plymouth, and finally there would be someone to wonder where I was heading. Then maybe I could give someone the chance to care, because I”m too proud to ask for attention.
    It wasn’t cold, but I wasn’t shivering just yet. The heating was on which put me into a sort of daze. My mind began to wander yet again, and I had no intent on stopping it. By taking this road home I took on a new perception of reality and let go of what I felt was holding me back. But maybe that’s just another sad excuse for a lonely college drop out. I haven’t had true human contact in about a week and maybe that’s what has been driving me crazy. I haven’t even opened my mouth since yesterday when I ate that sandwich. And if you stick to yourself for that long you start holding conversations in your head. It’s probably why I spend minutes overanalyzing every useless situation. And here I was again. Thinking back I realize that I spent a good portion of my childhood chasing excitement. Anything so long as it got me away from the silence that awaited me at home every single day. She probably never wanted me around anyways; I might ruin her “self cleansing,” her chain of perfect thoughts. How many of them involved me? I always just tried to stay out of the way and quiet, I guess they call it walking on egg shells. Maybe it’s that that fucked me over and left me here alone on this worthless road, but maybe not.
        When I looked around me, I mean really looked, I realized I was in the middle of nowhere. Hills were all I could see for miles. Well, I lied. There was a motel that I was seriously considering pulling into, on account of the time. I decided I’d drive by first, just to see what I was getting myself into. Surprisingly there were about 4 cars outside. I guess the middle of nowhere Kansas is a nice place to visit this time of year. I flipped the car around driving back to the wonderful “Sunny House-Five Motel.” It definitely sounded like the kind of place my death could occur in. Before I stepped out of the car I wondered how proud my father might be this time. My life might finally be coming down to one night stands in a crack house motel room. Thanks for the positive influence, dad. I’m sure there are a few business men here, too. Spending their family earnings in more...productive ways. But honestly, I didn’t even feel that bad as I walked up to what the owner probably called the front door. Though it looked like more of it was falling off than attached.
     A dimly lit light fell on the face of a very rough looking man. As we made eye contact I knew I was testing my fate again. And let me tell you, this man was blatantly crazy. Not that he didn’t have reason to be. I held my breath, like most would do in the presence of someone ready to snap. After receiving my key I turned to go and scout out room 2A. But not before this old man, probably some sort of a war veteran, had his chance to intimidate me.
    “You think you’re tough, huh?” He said without looking up. Surprised, with no idea of how to respond, I spoke softly.
    “What?”
    “You come in here thinking it makes you tough. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
    And at that point he looked up at me, but barely. And this is where I began to shiver. Still, let me tell you, I wasn’t scared. But I turned to my room anyways.
    Upon entering the room I flopped down on a bed I’m sure many others have formed the golden memories of their lives on. I’m not sure how long I laid there, but it was a pretty good amount of time. I can’t recall anything I thought of in the minutes prior to now, so I’ll assume them to be of no importance. I got to thinking about my life. And the only advice I can give to you is when you’re in a tough spot avoid, at all costs, over-analyzing your life. Because the minute you let yourself get to thinking about it, you get stuck on everything bad and you realize how worthless your life has truly become. Every moment spent to better your life was wasted, because it got you here. A loser, college drop-out in a motel room with too much pride to invite someone to care. And that was all pretty depressing, not that I was depressed or anything.
    It’s not like my life was all too important to anyone. And on that note I decided to walk to the bathroom and run some water into the bath. I’m still not sure if I was really planning to take fate into my own hands or not. It’s not like I wanted anything to end, but I really wouldn’t have minded it much. I got in with my clothes fully intact and just laid still. I’ve heard your blood clots too fast if there isn’t water to keep your wounds open. But that wasn’t why I was in there, only crazy people kill themselves.
    Just then I heard a knock at the door. Confused I laid there, maybe I was losing my mind, and it wasn’t so bad after all to be crazy. But then another knock rang through the thin walls straight to my ears. I jumped up, irritated and still thinking on the matter, to answer the door. Though I wasn’t too comfortable with my clothes being soaking wet, I opened the door just enough to see a dirty looking women. A Prostitute. I didn’t want to deal with having such an option so I figured slamming the door was the best way to send her off.
    I sort of realized then my life had quite a ways to fall before I had much of an excuse to choose my own fate. So I walked back into the bathroom to splash cold water onto my face. I looked up at myself, man I’d  come along way since I had made the decision to drop out. I noticed the bathroom didn’t even have a razor. Of course it didn’t, it’s a motel. I figured I’d escaped myself this time. I was out to change my fate and with the help of a nice girl paid solely on commission, I’d avoided myself. My fate was sealed, at least for now. Besides, it wouldn’t have been very nice of me to dispose of my body in that old mans motel. I wouldn’t want to ruin it’s reputation...or it’s carpet. But now it’s late, and I think I need to save my energy. I don’t know why.
    
    I woke up in a cold sweat and reached in my pocket for my cell phone. 7:06 AM and no missed calls. Damn it was early. I tried analyzing the time, looking for a hint of where to go from here. I’m told that time means everything, but I got nothing. I made my exit anyways.
    My car was freezing cold on account of how early it was. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I didn’t feel I needed a destination. I ran my wind shield wipers, attempting to remove the thick layer ice that had formed overnight. No such luck, but I headed out anyways. It reminded me of the trips my family and I took as a child. They always happened around the time after my dad took one of his little business trips. His form of an apology after abandoning my mom and I for a week or two. The drive was always silent, except for my dads attempts at family bonding. Which he soon gave up on when I repetitively answered in silence. I bet that pleased my mom though, maybe she was proud of me. Thanks.
    It wasn’t long before I hit a town, and I use this term extremely loosely. There weren’t many buildings, at least not out of the 4 by 4 block downtown area. I pulled in to what I interpreted as a bar. Forgetting the time, I reached for the locked door that awaited me. Rejected. I guess people don’t drink at 8AM, at least not here. Everything has limits, limits of time, age and experience. And it’s funny because both age and experience rely on time, it’s all that’s stopping you. But there is no way to manipulate it, and no chance of cheating it. It just is, and we just accept that. As I turned back to my car, I noticed the parking meter that I forgot to fill. So I reached in to my pocket and put in a few quarters and dimes. Doing this held my place in time, at least for now. It’s funny, how we’ve come to pay for time. I think I’ve finally realized how desperate we truly are for money. We’ve resorted to selling time, meaning money is just as much of a limit.
    There was a coffee shop next door to the bar. Great location. Second best to liquor is coffee. Unless you’re standing on the opposite side of the coffee shop, then maybe it’s first. Coffee shops are open at 8AM, I guess times no limit for caffeine. I reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet. All I had was my credit card.
    “What can I get for you?” She asked, half shouting over the coffee machines. And yet again I was too caught up in my chain of useless thoughts to reply. She asked me again a little more forcefully this time.
    “What can I get for you, Sir?” I sensed a lot of irritation in her voice. I decided that it was best that I ordered. And I did. I ordered my usual coffee drink, A white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. She seemed pretty content with my choice and after charging my card, she went off to make my drink. While she was off preparing it, I was staring at all of the pictures of mountains around the room. All of them had inspiring quotes neatly printed at the bottom. “Follow Your Dreams!” Thanks.
    As she handed me my drink she asked me how my day was going. I wish she wouldn’t try and talk to me, outside of the necessity at least. I took a sip while walking to a table. No whipped cream. Thanks. After attempting to find a way around it I went back to ask.
    “You forgot the whipped cream.”
    “Oh, I didn’t hear you say that, It’ll be 32 cents.” I reached into my pocket for some change. Of course I’d spent the last of it on the parking meter, of course. Mocha’s don’t taste the same with out it, so drinking my mocha plain wasn’t an option. 32 cents on my card sounded pretty good right about now. It’s funny how you take advantage of things when you have them, but when you don’t you’re willing to complain.
    “Sir?”
    “Oh, yeah. Here.” I got my whipped cream, it didn’t taste as sweet as it sounded. Nothing ever does.
    Time passed, and I probably should of been kicked out. But I wasn’t. The street lights came on at 6:30 tonight, just as I was walking out to my car. I’m not sure I really cared to see the street I walked on. I saw my car and paused for a second. Probably looking like some crazy person to anyone looking in. I decided to get in which could be my first mistake. If you spend your whole life trying to avoid something, it eventually catches up to you. And you probably deserve it. It was a cold dark evening, and it was only getting later. The roads were icy, I was careless.
    I’d never been in an accident before.

    BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. I’d never been in an accident before. That thought resounded in my head...But so did the beeping. My car door had probably opened or something. I couldn’t really move my body. It felt so stiff, and as though I was laying. I couldn’t even open my eyes but I heard voices, distantly. I didn’t feel like I was in my car anymore...but a bed. Did I lose consciousness after the crash? I was in a hospital, that was my final observation before I was able to pull my eyes open. Well that, and that my head hurt.
    “Shawn!” An unfamiliar face exclaimed.
    “...Yeah?” She pulled me into a tight embrace that I was too weak to resist. The doctors came rushing in to check my vitals. I think I was in some sort of coma. After all of the excitement calmed down they asked this women to leave, which I didn’t mind much. For some reason they wanted me alone. After they ran a bunch of tests on me I was left with two doctor who sat in front of me.
    “How are you feeling?” The man sitting to my right questioned.
    “Fine.” I couldn’t tell if this was small talk or some sort of test.
    “Shawn we’re going to ask you a series of questions.” Never mind, they were checking for brain damage. “Who is the president?”
    “George H. W. Bush.”
    “What year was he elected?”
    “1989.” I remembered because this was the year tens of thousands of Chinese students were killed in Tiananmen Square. Watching it on the news really bothered me.
    “When is your birthday?”
    “June 11, 1970.” It’s always fun to be reminded of my birthday. All of those joyful childhood experiences I do my best to avoid.
    “Alright. And what’s your mothers name?”
    “Angie.” He whispered something to the other man who I assumed to be his assistant.
    “Who was that women who was hugging you when we first walked in shawn?”
    “I don’t know.” I think I was supposed to. He had a solemn look on his face as he stared me down.
    “Alright, well I’m going to get Dr. Murray to come in and check you and some more bud.” And with that they both left. A good amount of time developed where no one came in. I passed the time through reading, yet again, motivational posters. Only these weren’t really so motivational, but they did make you think, “Are you really sure that a floor can't also be a ceiling?”  ~M.C. Escher. Or, “Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you're just a reflection of him?” Which I had heard before, in a cartoon I watched as a child.  Finally an old man entered. He took a seat in front of me before even so much as opening his mouth.
    “Shawn, I’m Dr. Murray. I’m the hospitals psychiatrist. I’m just going to ask you a few questions.” He waited for a response. I didn’t give him one. “Alright well. Here we go. Do you remember how you got here?”    
    “I got in an accident.”
    “What kind of an accident? Can you describe it to me?” I thought long and hard, trying to remember.
    “I was driving home from college..and Ice. That’s all I remember. How long have I been here?” He paused.
    “Shawn you’ve been in a coma for 3 weeks. The head injuries you suffer from have left you in a state of severe concussion.”
    “I feel fine.” And I did, minus the terrible headache that was allowing me to hear my own pulse. That’s always fun.
    “Yes, I know you do. But see, the events and people that you’re recalling to be part of your life, have no true relation to you.”
    “What do you mean?” I knew who I was. I didn’t like this feeling.
    “Well, for instance, your mother’s name is Joyce. She sat by your side everyday for 3 weeks, she was there when you woke up.” And that was all too much for me.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “In time I’m sure we’ll be able to bring back the memories of your life before now. The police will be in later tomorrow, to file an accident report. But now you need rest. You’ve had a traumatic month.” And with that he left me in complete shock. My own reality had flipped and now I was in some sort of alternate universe. Everything I knew to be my life now belonged to my opposite. Or maybe the way I perceived reality changed the second the second my head hit the windshield. But maybe not.