On the display there is a picture of another person his age enjoying a chicken sandwich.
PERSON: Alright, hello?
THE SPEAKER: [static] Yes sir, what can I get for you?
PERSON: I read that your Spicy Chicken Sandwich will take me “South of the border.” Is that true?
THE SPEAKER: One Spicy Chicken for the man in the fucking sweet Camry. Anything else?
PERSON: No, I’m not trying to order one yet, I was just curious if I will be mysteriously transported to Mexico or South America somewhere, because I’d need to know in advance to let someone know to get my mail for me and prevent the newspapers from accumulating in front of my door.
THE SPEAKER: [static] You won’t be transported. Would you like a Spicy Chicken or no?
PERSON: Well [shifts to park] hold on. That changes things. [pauses] I’m confused about where we’re at in the process now. Can I just pull around again so it’s like a do-over? So it’s like we never met?
A long silence follows. The person takes a deep breath and rubs his head slowly, in becoming lost to the humming of his car’s engine. He doesn’t know what he has just said. Looks out the windshield into the distance, where the refineries at the end of the town emit smoke, and blend to clouding.
THE SPEAKER: [static] Sir? What can I get for you?
No answer. The person is still removed. He becomes aware again in a slow volley.
THE SPEAKER: What can I get for you.
PERSON: [to back of car as if people are there] Uh, I didn’t order the Rude Sandwich [then aloud] Alright, how about this, the #6? It says it’s, “Exploding with taste.” Is that accurate? [watches his mouth in the rearview mirror] Exploding. Exploding.
THE SPEAKER: It is pretty good. Super good, Sir. Good in a big way, explodingly big taste. I’m fucking half-dead just thinking about it. Do you understand? [screams] Huh? [then tonelessly] I am imagining my exploded trunk bleeding into the dirt after having tasted the sandwich. The sandwich touches my mouth, and then I burst. Look around you, the parking lot should be hot with explosion remnants. The sandwich is amazing. [static]
PERSON: But—
THE SPEAKER: But no, you won’t actually explode.
PERSON: I don’t have to worry about my head bursting into pieces all over my car? Tell me that.
THE SPEAKER: No Sir.
PERSON: [watching own mouth again] And would you clean up the stains in my car if that happened?
THE SPEAKER: [static] I would do that for you, yes. I would clean the remains of your head off your car.
PERSON: Ok [puts hands on steering wheel, turns it side to side] Because, it would be pointless to buy the sandwich if I am going to die.
THE SPEAKER: Good point, Sir. I’ll fix the menu so nobody else has to live in fear [static] You’ve done a brave thing. You deserve that fucking sweet Camry.
PERSON: [not listening] And the Radical Ranch Dippers? — How ra- dical are they exactly? Tell me that.
THE SPEAKER: [static] Let me check [shuffling sounds] Ok — here it is, Radical Ranch Dippers. They have twice the amount of radical of most other places. Our team of scientists has discovered an extraction of radical, from a sample found deep within the earth’s core.
PERSON: Polysaturated-radical or what?
THE SPEAKER: Yes to both [static]
Behind the Camry, another car honks. And the person drives away, in an awkward heave, forgetting that his brake is on. He leaves the shopping area and takes the side roads out, touring the town. He smiles at recognizable things, things that immediately recall an entire structure of feeling, himself very small in relation to it but also very much in control. The town is average. It begins to rain. The person enters a subdivision.
PERSON: I am ok.
He smiles and waves at the subdivision entrance sign. On the sign there’s a lake painted there, and two genderless people in front of it, their faces gone from chipping. There is a green penis spraypainted going into one of their heads. The person nods hello to the wooden people as he turns in, passing the front lawn of the first house. Then more houses stacked in long rows.
PERSON: There can’t be anyone in these houses. These houses are just stones that have ended up here. I am lost and scared [watching mirror and road alternately] Exploding. Exploding.
He drives around, talking incomplete sentences to himself. Rain still, but not as hard. Eventually he pulls over in front of someone’s house and watches himself say “Exploding” for a few minutes. This seems to satisfy him. He gets out and leaves the car on the shoulder, still running. And he walks, watching his feet. He walks until he can’t hear his car anymore. Sees a drainage grill along the curb. And there he takes out his driver’s license, apartment keys and everything else in his pocket, including a roll of generic Lifesavers candy almost 2/3 full. And throws it all into the drainage grill. For a moment there’s the water’s hiss below. Then the things he’s dropped, they splash. And he sits on the curb — elbows on his knees, hands on back of neck, watching the water go into the drain, carrying small tree branches, and birds, bugs, leaves, pieces of whatever, whatever is weaker than the current. The refineries are only blocks away, and he stares at them.
[Later. Same scene.]
A car parks down the road, same model and color as the person’s. And a crossing guard exits. She begins crossing kids and buses when they come. In between, she approaches the person. He is wet, and sitting in the grass.
CROSSING GUARD: Hey — are you waiting for someone?
PERSON: [not looking] No.
CROSSING GUARD: Just sitting?
There is a pause.
PERSON: [with weird relief] Yeah, just sitting [then, evenly] I am just sitting.
CROSSING GUARD: Ok [thumb over shoulder towards car] If you want to come sit in my car with me — it’s warm in there. Plus you can pick the radio setting. You can pick any station or kind of music but you can’t have any of the carrots I brought because I only brought enough considering myself. I have a Camry [thumb over shoulder towards car] It’s lovely.
The crossing guard keeps her thumb towards the Camry. And the person looks at the license plate. Seems speechless.
CROSSING GUARD: [thumb still over shoulder] That’s my Camry you’re looking at. It’s lovely.
PERSON: I have a Camry too. It is lovely, you’re right. When I sit inside it, I am in love [watching a worm spasm on the street] I want to sit next to you in your Camry and scratch your face really hard.
He leans forward and picks the worm up. Then he examines it, in its state still wet and knobbed with pieces of dirt. He sets the worm back into the grass. Another school bus passes, parting the street into miniature waves. The person waves to the staring kids. They frown at him. One does that, “you’re crazy/finger around the head” thing, but without the accompanying “crazy face,” just a stare.
CROSSING GUARD: None of them like you.
PERSON: The ridicule is unbearable. And the urge to fall down and cry is hard to resist.
He gets up and the crossing guard walks him to the car. In the car they sit together in silence. The heater is on.
PERSON: [squinting against the heater] I’m not worried about anything. I’m not confused.
CROSSING GUARD: [takes out bag of carrots] Sometimes when I’m alone in my room I just walk around in circles and look at the garbage on my floor. I’m always worried about falling and hitting my head on something and then not being able to get up. It seems really upsetting that another human would have to come in and find me dead like that [eats carrot, optimistic] But someone will have to I guess.
The person pats the crossing guard’s shoulder. Then kisses her on the cheek. And beneath the kissed spot, a bruising forms on her cheek and eye orbital.