Day 102: Driving a Car in a Snow Storm with Tool

The snow had been coming down an hour before we left the apartment. Before we trudged five blocks through the slush and thickening floor of white that would soon be called the biggest storm in Chicago history in the month of November. It was the day before Thanksgiving and we were headed to her parent’s house. They lived two hours south of the city in the middle of BFE, Illinois.

Cindy wiped the condensation from the window of the warming car.

“Ugh, we’re going to get there late.”

“I know.”

“We should have left earlier.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Jeeze, look at those poor folks.”

There was a car parked on the side the freeway with its flashers flashing and a man trying to jack up the back driver side tire. You couldn’t really see them until you got within fifty feet. The snow was bad, but at least I could see the lights ahead of me. As long as we made it before dark, we would be fine.

“I should have packed last night. But I got caught up. We went to the Blue Line Bar.”

“Mmm.”

Cindy sorted through her purse, tumbling the contents on themselves like a tossed salad, and finally found a pack of gum.

“Gum?” she asked.

“No, thanks.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You’re mad.”

“...”

She unwrapped the gum and folded it into her mouth like a damn commercial. I turned on the radio. The announcer told us what we already knew. This storm was going to get worse.

“We just need to get there,” I told Cindy. “Then I’ll be fine. I just hate driving in this weather. Makes me anxious.”

“Want some weed. Calm you down?”

“No! That it’ll make it worse.”

“It’s Indica.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Helps me when I drive,” she said casually.

I shook my head. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t stop imagining what she did. Or with who. Calm down, I tried to talk myself down. There’s no real evidence. Could be a misunderstanding. She was drunk.

The cars were slowing down to forty. The red lights accumulated on the freeway. We only had four more exits to go and could get on 41 and take that all the way down.

“The snow is getting worse.”

Deep breath. “Yup.” My knuckles gripped at ten and two. Several cars already pulled over to the side to wait it out. There was no waiting for us. We had to get there or we had to turn back. My wipers were going at full speed and couldn’t keep up with the wet snow. Red lights popped on an off ahead. There were so many people trying to leave the city at the wrong time and we were one of them.

“Careful!” she squeaked.

“I see them.”

“Sorry, I just…”

“Just what?” I growled.

“Just thought you were going to hit them. Just got scared.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine. Will you turn up the radio?”

“Can I put in a CD?”

“I don’t care. The folder is in the backseat.”

Cindy pulled the binder to the front and fanned through the pages.

“What do you want to listen to?”

“I don’t care,” I said.

“Zepplin?”

“No.”

“Foo Fighters?”

“No.”

“Ugh. How about Tool?”

“God no. That’s yours.”

“Well, I’m putting it in.”

“Good at that,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing. Shit!”

The red lights lit up through the white haze like an overdone house on Christmas. I hit the brakes and slid to a stop inches before a blazer.

“Jesus,” Cindy said. “Careful.”

“God damn it.”

No cars moved. There were three lanes of red lights stopped completely on the freeway. The snow seemed like it was falling inches a second. The snow had accumulated, almost touching the bottom bumper of the car to my left. We were close to our exit. I knew it, but I couldn’t see the sign. There was only white. And red.

“Fuck.” I pounded my fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Please calm down.”

“This is fucking…” I shook my head.

“Come on, Ben. It’ll be fine. We’ll move in a minute. Everyone just has to go slow.”

“They’re not fucking moving at all.”

“Don’t fucking yell at me.”

“You couldn’t come home last night? You couldn’t pack your bag early, which takes half the time of any vacation?”

“I was having fun for once.”

“Till 4?”

“Tyler,” she said with a tone. “We talked about this. I don’t like you being jealous of my friends.”

“I’m not jealous of your friends.”

“Maybe if you wanted to hang out with me more then you wouldn’t feel left out.”

“I don’t…”

“Whatever.” She put the Tool CD in the player. It was a mix of her favorite songs by the group. Schism came on: “I know the pieces fit because I watched them fall away.”

The snow fell for five minutes and we didn’t move an inch. There must have been an accident ahead. We sat in silence and listened to the terrible song. It would not end. The stupid same guitar riff, over and over again. Tool had to be the most overrated rock band of the 90’s. Next to Nirvana.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. I sighed.

“What don’t you know.”

“I have to ask you something.”

“Okay.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you sleep with someone last night?”

“What?”

“Did you?”

“No. Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

I paused. I didn’t want to be there anymore. Not in the car. Not on the freeway. Not anywhere.

“There was a time the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.”

I looked at her. “When you got into bed last night, you snuggled up next to me.”

“Wow, what a fucking crime.”

“You called me Nick.”

“...” She looked out the window.

“And you smelled like…”

“...”

“...”

“What?” She turned back. “What did I smell like? I had a cigarette with Deb. Shoot me.”

“You smelled like you had sex.”

“Doom to crumble unless we grow and strengthen our communication.”

Cindy shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

She shook her head again. “Nothing happened.” She blinked fast and gritted her teeth. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of that.”

“Cindy, just tell me.”

The red lights turned off and the cars began to move.

“Oh, go,” she said.

I turned forward and focused on the road. It was less than a mile to our exit. The highway wasn’t any better, but the wind was blocked by the trees. We drove slow but made progress. Neither of us spoke. I focused on the road, squinting through the storm, while she chewed her gum and stared out the window. We would get there eventually. Somehow. I know the pieces fit. I know the pieces fit. Whether I was right or wrong, I had my answer.

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Image by Kent DuFault from Pixabay

Song lyrics were written by Adam Jones, Maynard James, Keenan, Justin Chancellor, Danny Carey