Blinding

"So. What do you like to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know, I know. Asking about hobbies and such, it's one of those courtesy questions that you don't expect a straight answer, like 'How are you doing?' But I mean it, what do you do to keep yourself busy? To keep from going crazy, you know, and pulling out that blonde hair of yours?"

"I don't know. I like to sing, I guess. I draw a little but mostly I watch TV in my pajamas, mostly. You're laughing at me, but I'm serious, I'm not really an adventurous person, not really. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. What do you do to 'keep from going crazy,' as you put it. The stuff that saves that weird curly red hair of yours."

"Well, I'm just as boring as you, really, except sometimes I get this itch inside of me, you know, just like if you just need a cigarette or something, and I go blinding."

"You go blind? What do you mean?"

"Blinding, not blind. Okay, you're looking at me funny, let me explain. It's this thing I made up. Kind of a game really."

"So you play made-up games, huh? What are you, twelve?"

"Ha. I'm not done explaining it to you. First, you have to be in a car. find an intersection, preferably a traffic signal, and just fly right through?"

"What? Okay, ha, ha, you got me. I'm sorry I called you twelve. You don't have to make up dumb stories about playing chicken in a car to impress me."

"No I'm serious. That's blinding. It's best to play at an intersection at a time of day that you know the traffic won't be heavy. Give yourself a bit of an advantage, you know? I call it blinding because you're driving blind into traffic, get it?"

"Well, I think I--"

"At first you're going to want to close your eyes as you go through. Don't. When you have your eyes open, and you're going for it, you'll probably see another car in the corner of your eye. Maybe you'll make it through, maybe you won't. That glimpse of another car says that odds are stacking against you. When you see that and you make it through, that's living. If you had your eyes closed you wouldn't get the same jolt of energy, the buzz."

"You're not being funny. I'm a little touchy on the subject, because, well. . . because my dad died in a car accid--"

"Oh, and it works at a stop sign, but that's not nearly as good as a traffic signal. You actually have a bit of an excuse with a sign, they're bland red sheets of metal hidden off to the side. It's easy to miss those; people do it all the time accidentally. But traffic signals-- You've got a large red beacon hanging there in the air flashing stop at the speed of light. You've got to do it on purpose to blow through one of those."

"Do, do you have a death wish or something?"

"A death wish? No, of course not. I've got a life wish. I want to live. I want to feel the blood pounding in my veins. I want to taste the boundaries of death and walk away. I want to prove that I am alive. So, yeah, you wear pajamas and watch TV, and I, uh, I do this."

"I, I think you should take me home now."

"Sure, I'll pick up the check and we'll--"

"You know what. . . I'll get a cab instead."


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