“Eastern Parkway” by Sam Draut
Eastern Parkway
A short story and photos by Sam Draut
The late spring fog settled upon Eastern Parkway as the St. James Church bells tolled half past nine. The lights lining the street broke into the night sky as the canopy of the trees glowed from the radiating bulbs.
The street was calm and desolate.
A white car pierced through the thickening fog with music playing slightly louder than the roar of the engine. It broke the peaceful parkway with wind gushing through the windows, but the driver was unphased.
He held the steering wheel lightly and hid a smirk behind a calculated face. He was free, but only until he reached the terminus of the four-lane independence. He would have to turn around in defeat, but not yet anyway.
The fog blanketed the homes outlining the road, leaving the only relevant being the sole occupant of the vehicle charging toward the end of time.
His freedom was an escape, a departure from the reality that had become so incoherently unavailable as the prosperity of youth faded from his eyes. The signs of middle-age sickened him, his friends bearing children, his colleagues married, his family celebrating grandchildren. But he wanted none of it and he would not have any of it, not on this parkway tonight.
He was free from what was deemed normal, what he was told to be necessary for a substantial life, what want and pursuit should be.
The breeze settled as he rested at a red light. A bird called out high above from a tree so thick it didn’t begin or end.
Peace for a moment, until the light turns green. And then he would move forward, to the unrelenting future, unwilling to halt with the turn of the streetlight.
If he were to only exist in the moment between the change of the light, he could stop everything, deny anything, be something.
But the fog filled the sky, the pavement pushed further, the night grew darker, and the light changed to green.
His eyes closed in hesitation, knowing he must push forward, go onward, seek more, whether it was his choice or not. His path was lit, his road paved, his end determined, but couldn’t there be more?
If he could find comfort in anything, it was that thought that he was a former everything, current something, and future nothing.