#43

He had thought about walking since it was so sunny out, but he was short on time so he pulled out his phone and ordered a car. He did not notice the car at first because the picture on the app looked to be a black car, and the car that drove up was more of a dark gray. When he finally did get in, he confirmed his name with the driver and then sunk into the back seat. Immediately he was struck by the grayness of the interior. The seats, the dashboard, the doors. The driver himself was wearing a gray ball cap, gray sweatpants, and a gray polo shirt. Even the stubble on his chin was gray. 

Perhaps all the gray was what made the large scar on the driver’s arm stand out, it too was its own shade of gray against his brown skin. The man tried no to stare, but the thick long line was like a fat juicy earthworm slithering out from under the driver’s shirt sleeve. It must have started at his shoulder and went all the way down to his elbow. Large dots appeared uniformly on either side of the line, making it look like a corset or a sneaker. What could have caused this? The man wondered from the back seat. A war wound? An alligator attack? A motorbike accident? 

The driver caught the passengers’ eyes in the rearview mirror. They held each other’s gaze for a moment and while the passenger looked away and frowned, the driver’s expression never changed. He knows I was looking. The man thought. Should I ask? Is it worse to ask, or worse to imagine falsely? He wondered. The driver suddenly cleared his throat. 

Here it comes. 

The driver rolled down the window and spat, then rolled the window back up. Feeling himself turn slightly red, the man forced himself to forget the scar and turned to look out the window. The skies too had now become gray, like they needed to heal from the bright sun of the day.