I’m late. Again.

Pushing 90 in the left lane, and I know that getting pulled over will make me even later but I don’t believe it will happen. I look from the clock on the dash to the rear bumper of the Ford ahead to the blue folder on the passenger seat.

The clock might be fast. God, I hope I printed the correct version of my CV. What’s the exit number again? It’s written in Sharpie on the folder, upside down.

I drive with both feet, a habit left over from my 5-speed Mazda. My left heel burns. The shoes I am wearing are too tight. I hope I don’t have to walk far to the administration building, but that means I will. My heels will bleed for a week. I’ll go without shoes. If I get this job, I’ll go without anything, wine, chocolate, in penance and gratitude.

I need this job. I need this job or a permanent place in Oblivion.

Last night after we made love, Andrew called me an oblivionist. He says I deny what’s in front of me. I seek to substitute pleasure for pain. Shouldn’t everyone? He shook his big, dark head slowly like a bear who is too tired to come out of hibernation.

Are bears oblivionists?

This is the exit! I almost missed it.

The road is leafy and winding. And there is something in the air. Small white bits of dust or bone or maybe feathers. I drive through them as through confetti or pieces of cloud. I think, this will stop, but it doesn’t. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing, frightening.

And I miss what’s right in front of me.

####


Maryanne Stahl lives on a lake with her husband, son, dog, cats, ducks and other wild creatures.

She is an assistant editor at Web del Sol's In Posse Review. Her most recent work can be seen in Aileron, Critique, Pig Iron Malt, Ophelia's Muse, storySouth, Exquisite Corpse and upcoming in Outsider Ink and New Works Review.

Her first novel, Forgive the Moon, will be published by New American Library (Penguin Putnam) in June 2002.

E-mail her at maryannestahl@hotmail.com.