May 25: The Moment

The itch has returned. The want. The need. The desire. I close my eyes and I can imagine the whole thing. The set up is perfect. The victim; helpless. I'm on the prowl. The aspiration consumes my thoughts. I dream about it. I watch the scene play over and over. Today, I will fulfill the temptation.

I am naked under the soft, salmon bath towel and my image stares back at me as I stand over the bathroom sink. Eye contact not breaking. My wet hair is plastered to my forehead. The comb cuts effortlessly through it and slicks it back. The pomade adds a devilish shine to the already dark color. My teeth are brushed and a drop of cologne is delicately placed behind each ear.

The engine jumps to life with a simple clockwise turn of the key. The cold air feels good against my recently shaved faced as I merge into traffic. My foot takes control of the speed and my hands guide me. My eyes, however, are searching for the perfect location. I drive through streets with parked cars and streets with playing children. I pass laundromats and post offices. Schools and community centers. Then I see it.

My black '04 Camaro sits with its engine idling a low growl. The skin is stretched white across my knuckles as I grip the steering wheel at ten and two. My jaw slowly and meticulously chews a flavorless piece of Dentine Ice as I wait for my victim. I rev the engine and then I rev it again.

I watch the traffic approach in my rear view mirror and then watch it through the bug-splattered windshield pass. I watch the traffic light change from red to green to yellow and back to red. I watch the cars stop, go, and speed up to beat the light. I watch until I see it; the midnight blue minivan. The Mickey Mouse antenna ball. The dent on the sliding door from a kicked soccer ball unable to find its target. The victim. The light is red. The prey slows to stop just short of the crosswalk. The moment is perfect.

I slam the accelerator to the floor and push against the wheel to anchor myself into the seat. The cross traffic races by in front of the target as my speed increases. The pitch of the engine's scream reaches higher and higher before dropping into the next gear. My jaw is set. My stare is concentrated. My victim is clueless. The minivan waits for me to send it into the cross traffic and to its eminent demise when suddenly, and without warning, I locate the yellow diamond-shaped sign in the lower right-hand corner of its back, tinted window. Baby On Board.

At the last second I jerk my speeding vehicle to the right and through the red light. I make it through the traffic, but just barely. Horns blare, lights flash, and brakes shriek. I wipe the sweat off my brow with a shaking hand and look into the rear view mirror. My victim shrinks and disappears around the corner. The moment lost.