text: You won’t often be able to get me to admit it, but I know that I’m an asshole. I know that I will probably never be able to really change, but at least I have some level of self awareness, right? I like to think that’s why at least some people are willing to put up with me. It’s not like I haven’t tried to be better. I’ve gone to seminars, tried therapy, all sorts of things. None of it really sticks. Sure, I’ve managed to calm down over the years and grow into the sort of person who can manage his own behavior to some extent, but that’s about it. It’s never been easy. I’m always just trying to maintain a poorly built façade that starts to crumble the moment I let down my guard. Underneath it all, I’m just an asshole by default. If you want to see me at my worst though, all you have to do is put me behind the wheel of a vehicle. Frankly, I’ve been told frequently by my wife, and most anyone I’ve driven anywhere, that I’m the worst kind of driver. They aren’t wrong. I cut people off, drive way too fast, and hurl obscenities out of open windows with reckless abandon. I may not have been in any more accidents than the average person, but I deny that the road is much safer when I’m not on it. I’m not proud of my behavior in any sense of the word, but that doesn’t mean I can change it either. It’s like something just comes over me, and all the worst parts of myself float their way up to the surface. I’m not exactly capable of being fully rational in the moment. I’d never drive anywhere if I could. This ugly side of myself has gotten me into trouble on the road so many times that I hardly even keep track. It’s not like I can change that part of me, so I just usually try not to think about it. Lately though, it’s been... harder than usual. That’s why I’m writing this all down, you see. I can’t really talk about it with anyone, so I thought putting pen to paper might help me get over this. You see... something happened. Something bad. \_\_\_ It started much like any other time: with some moron pulling some shit that pissed me off. This asshole just whips out of a residential street onto the main road without even stopping; in the middle of the night no less. I had to swerve to avoid plowing into the side of him. That by itself was more than enough to set me off, but the timing made things even worse. My wife had just finished laying into me about something or other, and I had decided to go to the bar to cool off. I was already as irritable as nitroglycerin and primed to detonate, and then this guy came along and started tossing sparks at me. Things were not going to end well. A better person would have simply let it go. I, on the other hand, decided to escalate things. So I started to follow the guy, disregarding all the legal trouble I could get myself into by doing so. None of the consequences really mattered to me at the time. This guy was now public enemy number one, and I wasn’t going to let him get away scot-free. I wanted him to feel threatened. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, and maybe only one fist to the jaw if he was lucky. The fact that he was driving a brand new Escalade, while I was stuck behind the wheel of my old, beaten up Ford, only added fuel to the fire. Like I said: Asshole. As time went on, the Escalade made several turns. Some of them started to seem random, and once they even looped around several blocks. I was certain that they had noticed me and knew I was following them. It was exactly what I wanted. Let em squirm. Let em piss themselves thinking that some psycho murderer is following them or something. I wanted them afraid. Hell, I was getting off on it. I was so focused on the back of their vehicle, so caught up in my own sick power-trip, that I didn’t notice that they had led me to the outskirts of town. Not until we entered the woods. The confusion I felt from this broke me out of my stupor. I glanced about, my eyes taking in the dark forest that spread out around for miles, and the lights of civilization rapidly receding into nothingness behind me. I had expected my prey to run away scared, maybe even call the police, but why drive out here? Didn’t they know that there wasn’t anyone around out here for miles? By the time I looked back towards the Escalade, it had already disappeared out of sight. Confusion quickly turned into unease. How could I have lost them on a deserted stretch of road? There wasn’t any sort of turn-off for another 10 miles, at least. There was nowhere to go! I sped up. Maybe they were around that slight curve just ahead? I didn’t realize what had happened until I saw the high-beams switch on in my rearview mirror. They must have pulled off the road somewhere without me noticing and waited for me to pass. My unease deepened, only about half a step away from fear. I didn’t like this, being followed. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so powerful anymore. Then the Escalade sped up, ramming itself into the back of my old, beat-up truck. Shocked, I struggled with the wheel, just barely managing to keep from flying off of the road and wrapping my vehicle around a tree. My heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I didn’t think and just slammed the gas pedal as far down as it would go. The three beers I’d had earlier in the night darkened the front of my pants. I was too scared to pay my sodden crotch any mind though, as I was too focused on getting away. Needless to say, driving a truck that could barely push 70 on a good day, I had absolutely no chance. All it took was one more hit to send me careening off of the road. I screamed at the top of my lungs as my truck went into a roll, and I was battered repeatedly on all sides by unyielding metal. The impact of my vehicle inevitably slamming into a tree knocked more than just the air out of me. I felt several of my bones snapping as the cab of the truck crumpled in on me. I nearly passed out from shock alone. My consciousness nearly drifted away, but the pain dragged me back to awareness. I had hit my head, and most definitely suffered a concussion, but the crash hadn’t killed me. At least not outright, anyway. Looking back on it now, the roll had likely slowed down the momentum of the vehicle enough to keep it from crushing me completely when it hit the tree. It was simply luck, more luck that I deserved really. The blood from a cut on my head dripped upward, forming a small puddle on the misshapen roof of the cab. I tried to move, but was met with only pain. I was pinned to my seat, the crumpled metal of my vehicle holding me in place, suspended upside-down. Even if I could have freed myself, I could tell it wouldn’t do me much good. It felt like I had more broken bones than intact ones at this point, and even crawling didn’t seem like it would be possible. I groaned, the act of doing so causing me even more pain. I could barely hear the sound of approaching footsteps over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my own ears, but it was still enough to give me the burst of adrenaline I needed to focus my attention. I glanced about as best I could. I wasn’t able to see much from where I hung from the wreckage, but I was able to catch sight of the idling Escalade out of the corner of my eye. I had a guess who the approaching footsteps might belong to, and I certainly wasn’t happy about it. I struggled wildly through the pain to try and loosen myself, but it was no use. I was helpless. A face appeared in one of the broken windows. It was the face of a young man, no older than somewhere in his twenties. He had this disheveled, panicked look to him, staring wildly at me and panting heavily. His face was unwashed and unshaven, as if he had been sleeping on the street for some time. I didn’t look at his appearance much more than that though, as my attention was soon focused on what he held aloft: a large, bloody knife. Why was it bloody? He hadn’t used it on me yet. “You...” he said, his voice hoarse and dry, “How in the fuck did you *know*?” I had no idea what he was talking about. It didn’t look like he was going to give me the chance either, as he raised the knife up higher. He looked like he was aiming to stab it directly into my eye. I let out a weak squeak, my best attempt at screaming for help. Something unexpected happened then. The light of a flashlight suddenly lit the young man up from behind, startling the both of us. “Hey!” a gruff voice called out. “What in the hell is going on here?” The young man whipped around, still brandishing the knife in his hand. He hesitated for a brief fraction of a second before dashing off in the direction of the voice, letting out a shrill, wild cry as he went. Two gunshots shortly rang out in succession, cutting short the young man’s voice. Relief flooded through me as I heard the muffled thud of the young man’s body hitting the ground. My adrenaline faded away and I slipped into unconsciousness, long before I could make out any of the features of the flashlight-toting silhouette approaching the wreckage of my truck. \_\_\_ By the time I came to in the hospital a few weeks later, everything had already been resolved, and the story was the talk of the town. They’d identified the young man as a drifter who was wanted in several states for various charges including murder, kidnapping, assault, and many other, more unsavory crimes. Turns out, he had actually just attacked a family in town, killing the mother and father of the family, kidnapping their teenage daughter, and driving off in the family’s stolen vehicle. The girl was actually found in the backseat of the Escalade; drugged, tied up, but thankfully otherwise unharmed. In my case, I was very lucky. A Conservation Police officer had happened to be in the area investigating reports of a pack a wolves, when he heard the commotion of my car being run off the road and came to investigate. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, I most certainly wouldn’t be here right now. Turns out, I was being heralded as something of a hero. No one quite knew how I’d figured out that something was off, but it was clear that, if not for my “quick thinking”, that poor girl would have met a fate even worse than her parents. She even came by the hospital to thank me personally, grateful tears in her eyes. I could barely stomach it all. I was so sick with guilt, but I’m still too ashamed to tell anyone the truth. My wounds are now mostly healed, and the permanent damage is minimal. Everyone knows what happened, and I’m treated well wherever I go. Even my relationship with my wife has improved. She told me that she never knew I was so brave. That she was proud of me. It hurt to hear that. I know I don’t deserve it. Any of it. I’m not any kind of hero. I’m just a worthless asshole.