The Favor

The other day you called me.

This wasn’t something unordinary. In fact, the call in question was the eighth call that I had received from you over the span of a five-day workweek.

The subject: you needed me to pick you up.

The subtext: you wanted me to pick you up.

The body: very redeeming.

I dropped everything, mounted my metallic steed, and galloped up the street.

…

I turn off the engine; my car has been idling and on the verge of an overheat.

I think I must have misheard your call.

Unlikely.

I may have allowed my lack of pride to slow down time.

10:43.

I drive home unaccompanied, in what feels like a victory.

Halfway home, my foot teases the brake pedal.

There is a defeated deer staggering across the street, with half of its antlers scattered along the grass on the side of the road that he is approaching.

Why return to such a scene?

Something evaporates from the left side of my chest into the night, and I have to roll down my window to release the steam.

My phone leaves my cheek, and in a brief span of time, my car undertakes a ten-point turn in order to reverse course.

Prior to the beginning and end of my stunt driving career, I heard myself say:

“Be there in ten minutes”