IT TAKES A MOMENT for him to realize that he has hit the driver, that the man has stumbled backward, is leaning against the steel upright, is staggering, has dropped to his knees. Matthew steps out from hiding. He looks in the direction of the cab. The kids are still calling out, one or two are outside the cab, but they have their hands on it, are holding it, for its protection, and don’t seem to be interested in leaving its shelter.
He shivers, turns, and looks at the driver. He’s bleeding from his ear. Blood runs down his chin. His mouth is open. He looks confused. Hate made Matthew swing for his head, and hate makes a part of Matthew want to hit him again. The fury is still there. The one blow was not enough to quench it.
Go on, hit him. Hit him again. I had no idea this would feel so good. Hit him, Matthew. Go on. Hit him. Don’t let the fucker get up. It’s the voice of BW, the part of Matthew that wants to strike again, the part that has made him forget that he’s not the sort of man to do something like this.
No. No, says Matthew. Leave him alone. He backs away from the driver. The man puts his hand to his ear, pulls it away, and sees the blood. His eyes widen, and his mouth begins to move, soundlessly.
His eyes! says BW. Look at his eyes! Look at that, Matthew, look at that. That’s terror! This man is afraid of me. Afraid of you. Oh, I like that. I like that fear.
Matthew raises the rod and takes a step toward the driver. He enjoys the way he feels his muscles tightening — in his arms, his back, his neck, his jaws, too, tightening, clenching. The driver tries to back away, but he’s against an upright and doesn’t dare take his eyes off Matthew to look for an escape. The wind rises, the vicious wind, cold and dusty, and the driver shudders. So does Matthew, and it makes him feel a kinship with the driver, two foolish aging men, fighting on this forsaken landscape, while children watch.
What fools.
But he is so fucking afraid of me, Matthew. Let go of me. Let me hit him again. Once more. For the kids who smeared shit on your underwear back in high school.
All right, yes. No. No.
Come on. Once more. One for Tracy in the elastic skirt. She was laughing at us, Matthew. She’s not laughing now, I’ll bet. One more. One more, at least. Just one more.
No. No.
Matthew backs away, dragging BW with him, and the driver takes his chance as soon as he sees it, gets to his feet, backs around the upright, turns, and runs. Matthew turns, begins walking in the opposite direction, and then begins to run, runs without knowing where he’s running, until he’s out of breath. He’s reached the edge of the cleared area, where buildings still stand. He stops, leans against a wall, breathes deeply.
I should have — spent more time — on the rowing machine — at the health club, he thinks.
I could have killed him, says BW.
I don’t think so. I don’t think I would have let you go that far.
I would have. There was a point there — when I — when I didn’t want to stop.
I know, I know. I felt that.
That was the best part. Exciting. So exciting.
Keeping a hand on the wall, he walks along, slowly, dragging his feet, until he comes to a darkened doorway. He settles onto a step and sits there, hoping he’ll be able to breathe again soon.
[to be continued]
In Topical Guide 558, Mark Dorset considers Emotions: Anger
Motivation: Revenge; Personality Characteristics; and Emotional Stability: Loss of Self-control from this episode.
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🎧 558: It takes a moment ...