We Ride Through the Storm
Artwork by John P Maggie
When I was younger and still went to church, I thought there were five horsemen of the apocalypse. Maybe there were, and the other ones had to eat him Donner-party-style because Heaven is a long way from Earth and they probably didn’t bring enough food. I don’t know why I thought that, because pastor James had always made it clear there were four. Five just felt like a better number.
I feel like I’m one of them now, hurdling uncontrollably towards the ground from the sky. I’m speeding down the road and can barely see anything through the torrential downpour. Jeremy is screaming in the backseat, and I mutter under my breath that today was a bad day to have an accident with the deli slicer. My windshield wipers just smear the water around.
I’d always wondered if people would pray during the apocalypse, as the world was ending. Neither of us prays because praying is like meditating but stupider. If he dies, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’m realizing now that he is my world; this is my apocalypse.
It’s raining so hard I can’t even see the road if I try, so it really doesn’t matter all too much that I keep looking back every time Jeremy goes quiet to make sure he isn’t dead. He’s so pale. When he’s not crying, he pleads for me to drive faster, but I call him a little bitch and tell him we’ll drive off the road. He tells me to put him out of his misery.
I don’t think Jeremy is a bitch. We even stayed friends after going to college in different states, and even when we both dropped out we ended up working together at that shitty deli. He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known, and that’s why I press down on the gas pedal just a little bit more. I tell him to keep pressure on his middle finger stub. He bemoans the fact he won’t be able to flip me off anymore. The day we met, he flipped me off; in middle school confirmation class, I drew a dick with Sharpie on his hand while Pastor James droned on and on about the Book of Revelation.
I think the hospital is close, and I’m thankful that we made it this far. I feel my world ending. Twelve years–or eight miles in the rain, now. We’re driving through the storm like we always have. We’re two of the Horsemen. I call War and he calls Conquest. I’ll take Death if I need to because there’s no way in Hell that he’s dying before me. Or Heaven, whichever one is further from Earth. I’d cross that distance for him. He just has to hold on for now.
