In a Ford Towards Ford

By Cameron Levins

My Crown Vic is like my home. It’s a kitchen, a bedroom, and if I have a spare $40 there’s room for one more. Never a bathroom, I have more dignity than that. It’s also my office building, I grab the keys and go to work. It’s 1 a.m., and I’m at the light on Woodward Avenue. A man sprints to my Crown Vic. It’s been a slow night so I unlock the doors. He’s wearing a black pullover, it looks wet. He’s breathing as if the air was running from him.

“Where to, buddy?” I ask.

“Get me to a fucking hospital!”

The closest hospital is Henry Ford, it’s about 20 minutes away. I could make it there, I think. My eyelids turned to anchors, the lights are blinding but there’s a strong scent of iron. The pressure of another person’s life focuses my pupils and makes my hair pledge allegiance. My foot becomes gluedto the pedal.

Even though I could guess the answer, I ask, “What happened back there?”

He said, “Don’t worry about it, just drive.”

A piece of silver in his pocket reflects the street lights,.My imagination runs like a sheepdog. The red starts to spill onto the blue and black cloth seat covers. We’re near the hospital.

“What happened?!” I ask.

“Just drive, that’s all you’re worth. Can you fucking do that?”

Did he deserve what happened to him? Maybe. More of the red joins the blue and black. He was in my Crown Vic. Did God send him my way? That sounds dumb now that I think of it, we’re our own gods. This man bleeding out in the back of my Crown Vic doesn’t know me and I don’t know him. He threw his life into my home, and my living. It’s kinda ironic. Henry Ford was on my right. I turned the wheel to the left.

Cameron Levins is a writing major graduate from Middlesex County College.He’s from Sayreville, Mid Atlantic-US. When he is not writing he flips burgers or reads screenplays. However, one step at a time, he will prove to his mom that he is not a bum.

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