Personal Narrative: The Road Is Closed

So we kept driving until we were inevitably stopped by the state trooper. Their was a pair of sawhorses blocking the road and the trooper came up to the window. His face was bleached by the cold and snowflakes clung to his eyebrows and the fur of his jacket and cap. I looked at him and said, “Don’t tell me.”
He said, “The road is closed. It might get cleared but it might not. This storm took everyone by surprise. So much happening so fast. It’s hard to get people moving on Christmas Eve. What can you do?” Angrier this time I said, “Look. We’re talking about five, six inches. I’ve taken this car through worse than that.” The man straightened up and his face became stern. He said, “The road is closed.” I knew the trooper felt a

It's an optical illusion that's easy to fall for. The more distant I am from other people, the more invulnerable they appear. I see myself as I am, with my flaws just as clear as my successes, but I see most other people on their terms, only from the side they present to the world, stoic and confident. At first glance they've got everything figured out, with everything set in stone, securely embedded in their community, wrapped up with their loved ones, their lives like a finished work of art. But it's only just a trick of perspective. Everyone else seems to be doing better than me because I can't see the cracks from so far away. How insecure their footing, how malleable they really are. How many years of effort went into shaping their persona into something acceptable, how many other hands it took to build their lives, which are still only ever a work in progress. It's the kind of basic human vulnerability that everyone finds familiar, but is still somehow

Never.” He respond with, “I guess.” I said, “I can’t let this happen.” I leaned in and talked quieter this time, “I’ll tell you what I want. I want us all to be together again. Is that what you want?” Jimmy responded, “Yes, sir.” I bumped his chin with my knuckles and said, “That’s all I needed to hear.” I did somewhat care about Debbie but not as I should. There is a coldness to myself and I was willing to risk it all. I was ready for a disaster. For a million years, we’ve watched the sky and huddled in fear, but you find yourself quietly rooting for the storm. It’s as if a part of me is tired of waiting, wondering when the world will fall apart by the will of the gods almost daring them to grant your wish. Really, I can wish all you want because life is a game of chance and each passing day is another flip of the coin. I can’t help but take this life for granted. My eyes adjust to the color of the walls and my ears tune out the chatter as if my body’s trying to filter out the world as you know it. While my brain goes numb trying to shake off your complacency, my heart can’t sit still and my gut is hungry for chaos; itching to chase after storms and run head first into the fire. To watch society break down and find out what’s truly important and watch everything else fall away. The apocalypse is one of the oldest fantasies humans have, but it’s not about