Taking the corners at a moderate rate of speed, he was pressed into his seat. He loved the feel of driving. The flow of machine and man. He controlled a machine that could wreak havoc in the wrong hands and used it to its fullest extent. There was nothing like the acceleration of the car through a tight corner, of the rush of the wind on a long straight-away.
His hands were grasped loosely on the wheel, responding to the subiminal information of his brain. He interepted what he saw on the road, and translated it to his body so that it could perform the necessary adjustments.
He was supposed to be at his friends party. He was way late. Hours by now. He would do that reguarly, tell someone he was comning to the party, but then he never showed. It infuriated his friends, and soon the invitiations stopped coming,
But here he was, home visiting with friends and family, driving the backroads, thinking of times gone by. For some reason, the memories surprised him. He couldn't believe some of the things he had done. People he once knew, places he once spent all of his free time. The memories of a mis-spent youth.
As he drove, his mind was able to shut off the consocious control of the vehicle and go into a form of autopilot. his body moving on its own accord, responding to the information being absorbed by his brain. He started looking at houses, the subarbian jungle of small town life. The allusion of a big city with amenities, but the reality of a small town with nothing better to do than gossip.
He thought about what life would have been like, if he had done what was expected of him. Would he have been married, with children, living the "American Dream", would his life had been any different? Would he have one of these houses with a white picketed fence, a swimming pool in the backyard, a dog and a cat? Would he have been any happier?
The choices he had made in his life had taken him to places he had never imagined was possible, but had also denied him the things he cherished. He had tried all his life to live with no regrets, only to find that he still had regrets. He regretted not having the wife, the kids, the life he missed everyday. But he wouldn't be who he was without it. And yet he found his life incomplete.
Soon he was at his friend's house. The party was going on inside of it. He knew he should go in. He parked his car. He sat there looking at the windows of the house, seeing the people move back and forth, having fun, talking. He should go in. But he didn't belong anymore, he had moved on, this was no longer home, he no longer wanted to be here anymore. He looked at the window again.
No one heard him drive away.
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