Godspeed

Baba Tornskin

Published: 2010
Categorie(s):
Tag(s): "car crash" "stream of consciousness" car urban street ambulance
hipster e.r. highway decapitation helicopter repression veteran grim
poshlost perspective modernism

1
The Hipster

god always pork and one percent why mom must totally love pork but
pork is not just not pork cuz theres sausages which are like better than
tenderloin and almost as good as ham and then there are pork chops in a
totally different category of awesomeness and here they are the frozen
bastards all sliced up two packs to go and milk yeah milk and pork on
one hand and my longboard on the other and did you find all you were
looking asks the asian ladyclerk and yes a pack of ciggies marlborolike i
say and do i have airmiles no but like how much is it yeah so thats like
about a twenty five and here i pay and goodbye man its getting late the
sunset red the grey parking lot god lets have a quick smoke and like my
mom says have everything all squared up and theres the black suv the
sunset all swirly and i put my longboard in the passenger seat the milk
and pork over my moms rug samples like shell sell that house for sure
for sure good ciggie and my mc coke how large is the large … big fuck-
ing large yeah great i hope i dont get caught in the late rush hour traffic
highway is past the walmart and then right on the gas station and that
pizza place where that chic with the burned face works and then i god i
knew it fuck the fucking traffic and jesus why does it always happen to
me why so i smoke some more but just then i hear and feel my gut all
churning and i know i have to go god what are the odds i have to take a
dump and like totally as soon as you have to go everything like turns in-
to a freakin problem and traffic hey put it on fucking drive will ya god i
didnt know pigs could drive now hey asshole stop breaking every god-
damn second god god just think of something else hey idiot dont you see
my signals fuck i have to go breathe breathe fucking cig why did i even
smoke that big m sure did a number on me fuck move will ya wait thats
an ambulance siren yes whatever ill drive behind cuz this is like an
emergency to me right now right here wheres the ambulance wait wait
ill take that lane or is it an exit oh shit ambulance im going to crash
moms car crash fuck why… why… im on the pavement hot… and all i
see is like milk and oil and pork chops and glass and my head is light
and theres shit in my pants and the ambulance is upside down and
people rushing and screaming… for another ambulance and god god
why is there a bald head on the pavement and milk and blood and oil…
god it hurts somethings like stuck in my stomach… my head is light i
look up and theres light pouring down from a helicopter… jesus… i see
the blades going faster faster… then slowly backwards…

2
The Ambulance Driver
"Hey moron, this time you take the ambulance, or is that too difficult for
you?" Isaac said.
Comma bit her lips until she felt them sting with pain. "I'm sorry, yes.
I'm sorry. I'll see you in an hour."
“Keep an eye on it. I'll see you at five,” Isaac said and then slammed
the door and disappeared into the crowded streets.
Comma was hungry, her stomach growled. She drove the ambulance
two blocks north and parked as close as she could to a hotdog stand. She
got off the ambulance, ordered a hotdog and a drink, and waited for
many minutes. Her stomach growled again. Then it became obvious to
her that the hotdog man had forgotten her order. She bit her lips until
she felt them sting with pain. Coma thought: she could either complain
to the hotdog man or walk a block east to her apartment. Comma walked
towards her apartment. At each step, her mind raced with winning argu-
ments and commanding orders that would've got her a hotdog.
Almost a block away, Comma reached the apartment building where
she lived was unremarkable. It had no distinguishing traits, all details
had been washed away from the building and it simply melded with the
rest of the cityscape. She had live there since she was six with Solomon,
her father, a desert storm veteran who had been honorably discharged
after the tire of an f-15 exploded on his groin and made him a cripple. So-
lomon would be surprised, and angry, but Comma was too hungry to
think.
Comma walked through the forgettable lobby and heard the elevator
door ring open. She rushed towards the common looking elevator. A
man was standing inside, Comma stopped in doubt. The man looked
back at Comma. The elevators doors closed with a clang. Comma walked
past the elevator and climbed the stairs. "I hate people when they are not
polite. It's ok… it’s ok, it's only five floors," she thought, "next time I'll
call him by a name, he'll remember me. Or if I see him I won't hold the
door for him!"
Comma reached the fifth floor and walked across the hallway. The car-
pet was old, dusty, red; the walls were of a pale beige color. Her door,
identical to all other doors in the building, was also beige. Comma hadn't
even reached the door to her apartment when she heard two voices com-
ing from within. One was Solomon's. The other was foreign. Comma
placed her ear next to the door, she could made out some of the words:
"Comma", "alone", "young", "sensitive", "feminine", "productive".

3
 Comma knew what was happening. Her father had been asking her
about why she had no friends, about her sterile future as an ambulance
driver, about her habit of sitting all night in front of a stupid computer.
Stupid, that's the word he had used. And it was true; she had no future,
no friends and no prospects. But how could she explain to her father…
how could she even begin to describe how it was when she drove the
ambulance. Comma would've never dared to say anything contrary to
her father. But how? How could she tell him that the ambulance was an
extension of her body; that the headlights were her piercing vision, that
the GPS system was her second sight, that the radio was her acute sense
of hearing, that the back was a healing womb that could save lives. Stu-
pid, that's what Solomon would say. Yet Comma was convinced that the
ambulance was nothing but a new and fantastical organ, one with its cor-
responding senses and functions.
Comma heard a pause in the conversation inside the apartment. She
took a deep breath and opened the door. Except for Solomon's medals
and pictures from the war, her apartment was also as unremarkable as
the building. Two persons sat at the dimly lit living room. To the right,
Solomon sat on his wheel chair, to the left, a Latin looking person sat on
the loveseat. The air smelled of grease and stale food.
Solomon wheelchaired towards Comma and greeted her with an out-
pour of false enthusiasm. Then he introduced the guest, but Comma
couldn’t make out the name. Something Mexican. The Mexican was bald
and had the long slanted eyes and high arched eyebrows of a perpetually
sad puppy. His movements and speech were exceedingly formal and
made him look false. After the introduction, Solomon cleared his throat
and began to talk. His deep voice sprang up from his broken and warped
body.
"Comma, my friend… I mean, our friend lives upstairs. He wanted to
meet you," Solomon said.
The Mexican continued, "Y-yes. You… well I saw you the other day
and I wanted to speak to you and know your name," he said.
Comma knew that she was being set up. Solomon was trying to hook
her up with an opportunistic foreigner. Comma bit her lips until she felt
them sting with pain. She remained silent.
"Oh look, don't be shy. Look… Comma, you have no friends, do you
want to go on living like this?"
"You don't understand! I-I'm… I want… " Comma blurted out.
"Please Comma, I'm your father. Don't kill your inner cupid," Solomon
said and skillfully drove his wheelchair closer to Comma.

4
 Comma flushed. She never made sense when she was nervous, but she
had to say something, "You don't know, I can't tell - friends and their
lattes, lovers and their embraces. Who will you don't understand… all
the shit, how much we betray and go away and say 'do what you will' …
no, no! All is nothing. We are vain and blind. You and your pains. No,
no!" Comma mumbled.
"Comma, I'm your father. Are you going to deny me, your own father,
a family? Please Comma, don’t act as if you were eighteen years old," So-
lomon said.
"It's monstrous, you know! You always control me. You take my
money and punish me, and then forget about it by breakfast! And I never
complain, you know?" Comma said.
Solomon looked straight at her.
"People just don’t fall in love," Comma said.
Solomon groaned in anger and yelled back, "you talk a lot, but you
don't say anything! Are you going… are you going to tell me that you
wont give me a grandson? How can you do this to your own father?
Deny me of my god-given right to have a grandson! And who knows
how long I’ll live. You have never made me proud, you should have
died when you were born, you should have… "
Comma ran out of the apartment, through the beige hallway, down
the stairs, through the forgettable lobby, and out the street. Only in the
ambulance would she feel right and protected. It was dusk, the red sun
was slowly crashing against the horizon.
As Comma passed by the hotdog stand, the steaming smell of boiled
sausages made her stop and gasp. Then she noticed that The Mexican
was following her. When he caught up he spoke and panted. "Don't es-
cape! I dream… about you ever since… I saw you… last week. I dream
that we escape… to a mountain, watch… and wonder about everything.
We dance, we drink, and we love on jade green shores. I tell you… no es-
cape until I saw you!" The Mexican said.
Comma didn’t reply. She had said it once, so why say it again? Why
did she have to repeat herself? She walked towards the parked ambu-
lance. The ambulance keys jingled as Comma fished them out of her left
pocket.
The Mexican started again, "Come Comma, let's make it happen," he
said, "don't be stupid."
Comma said nothing. She opened the ambulance door, and began to
feel better, lighter. The Mexican came closer, and closely said, “Don’t be
stupid.”

5
 Comma inserted the key into the engine start. The Mexican ran around
the front of the ambulance and got in through the passenger door. The
engine started and the doors locked with both of them seating inside.
Drops of sweat streamed down from the bald head of The Mexican.
Comma bit her lips until she felt them sting with pain. The Mexican mo-
tioned towards her and placed his hand on her knee. Comma kept biting
her lips. She tasted rusty blood.
A yell broke out the silence, “Hey moron! What the hell are you do-
ing?” Said Isaac. He was standing in front of the ambulance holding a
coffee and a hotdog. His eyes moved in disbelief from Comma to The
Mexican and back to Comma.
Comma felt dizzy. Isaac was the last person she wanted to see. The
situation was getting out of control.
“You little kinky shit. What the fuck d'you think you're doing?” Isaac
said, his face all red. A small crowd of curious onlookers began to gather
around the scene.
Comma bit her lips harder. Blood. She thought that she could either
come out of the ambulance and deal with Isaac’s furious anger; or she
could run him over and kill him, and kill the Mexican - kill both, kill
everyone. She was biting hard; more blood came out of her lips. The
Mexican recoiled back in terror. Isaac walked to the ambulance's door
and tried to open without spilling his coffee or dropping his hotdog.
"Open the fuck up!" said Isaac. In what seemed like slow motion, Isaac
dropped his hotdog, and in a desperate attempt to catch it, he also spilt
his coffee. "Open the fucking door right the fuck right now!" Isaac said.
But Comma had reached a conclusion. She leaped at The Mexican, and
clawed and scratched and bit his face. Isaac began to hit the win-
dowpane with his fist. Inside, Comma dragged The Mexican to the back
of the ambulance and tied him by the neck around a stretcher. The win-
dowpane finally smashed open and Isaac’s groped for the lock. Then
Comma leapt at Isaac's hand, biting it with all her strength. Isaac put his
hand away, terrorized by the red-blood mouth and insane eyes that
stared from the other side of the smashed window pane. Isaac threw a
punch at her, then another. Comma covered her face. She fumbled with
the gears and slammed her foot on the gas. The ambulance moved in re-
verse, and crashed against the crowded hotdog stand. The onlookers
scurried away in panic. Isaac ran towards the ambulance in a desperate
attempt to take control of the situation. Comma raised her head. She saw
Isaac running towards her. She shifted to first and stepped on the gas.

6
The ambulance sped forward and ran over Isaac, his red face smashed
against the hood. Comma saw Isaac's eyes frozen in disbelief.
“Pfft! I spit on you! You want to get inside me?” Comma yelled as she
drove the ambulance. Her ears were hot and her body pulsed with en-
ergy. She needed speed, so she drove straight into the highway. “You
and my father. You think you can tell me what to do?” Comma turned
her head and saw The Mexican struggling with the rope around his neck.
Comma focused on the ropes, they could resist the mad strength of epi-
leptics, the paroxysms of schizophrenics, the spasms of the traumatized
and the dead, and of course, the terrified jerks of an opportunistic Mexic-
an. Comma turned her head back at the road; there was a car directly in
front of her. She veered away. “Fuck, you moron! I hate traffic!” Then
she half turned to The Mexican and said, “there are lanes for you pigs,
and there are lanes for me – Well, well, well – see? We just take the exit
lane, except we don’t really exit: that's a rush lane for you moron. The
rest is speed.” The ambulance roared and shook as Comma sped through
the rush lane. Then she screamed in ecstasy, “Speed! Speed! Speed is
God, God is speed!”
Suddenly, a black SUV driven by a disneyfied suburban hipster took a
wrong exit and headed straight towards Comma’s speeding ambulance.
Instantly, Comma knew that there was no time for either/or decisions.
They were going to crash. She felt a perverse impulse to go faster and
crash even more violently against the other black SUV, but the impact
was faster than Comma. All she saw was sparks and a scrawl of metal, a
hieroglyph with a meaning that just escaped her. Then all was silent. She
tried to crawl out of the window, but she couldn’t. She realized she was
upside down. She tried to talk but instead of words, blood squirted out
of her mouth. Comma saw what was around her and blinked helplessly.
Spilt milk was slowly covering the pavement, mixing with hot oil,
scattered glass, rug samples, and finally reaching the severed head of
The Mexican, grotesquely planted in front of the ambulance. Then there
was nothing.

7
 From the same author on Feedbooks

Griptape (2010)
A parody of a morality story: two skateboarding teens find them-
selves in a nightmarish party.

8
www.feedbooks.com
Food for the mind