Strangers in a Car

A friend showed me a song called "Strangers in a Car" and asked if I could write a short story based on it. This is what developed.

Elliot stumbled down the street aimlessly, open briefcase tightly gripped and flopping around in one hand, and a number of blank sheets of paper strapped to his chest with his other arm.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

Fourth interview this month. You have to stop bringing that stupid goddamn suitcase, you idiot. Fourth rejection. Fourth humiliation. Fourth -

“Mr.......Benson, is it? Why do you think you’d be an asset to our team here at Starbucks?”

“Well I...I....I can....and I’m very.....Let me consult my paperwork here.”

Nervous hands. Those damn shaky hands. Down goes the coffee into the manager’s lap. Down goes the paper onto the floor.

Great job, Elliot. Now he knows you’re a fake.

It was people that did it. Anyone. Elliot could not handle other people. He knew that he couldn’t. He addressed the problem on a number of occasions in his head, but he couldn’t figure any other way to get around it beside getting out of his mother’s house to find a job. He was a problem solver.

“Mr. Benson, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you sir?” the manager said.

“Forty years old sir. Forty years old. Forty.”

“Perhaps this isn’t the best work environment for you Mr. Benson. This can be a very high-stress job, and it just doesn’t seem like you’re suited for it. Thank you for your time.”

“Oh no, no. Thank you...sir, I’ll just...be going now.”

Now stumbling down the street.

Don’t look back.

“Elliot Benson?” said a strangely familiar voice with a rich Indian accent.

Elliot paused and looked behind himself, eyes passing over a beige station wagon, but he immediately realized the voice was coming from the vehicle that was parked on the street. Elliot backed up against the wall of The Smoke Stack, a dirty cigar shop, dreading contact with another complete stranger.

“Mr. Benson. Do not be alarmed sir. Please, approach.”

Elliot bent over at a ninety degree angle, peering in the passenger side window to see who was speaking to him. A small man with dark brown skin sat behind the wheel. He had white hair around his ears, but the top of his head reflected the bright spring sun and matched the rest of his coloring. Under his nose was a neatly trimmed mustache, and his lips were large and naturally pursed slightly, making his bottom lip stick out just a bit from his top. He wore a thin, white short-sleeve button up shirt that was only buttoned to the middle of his chest. It barely contained his round gut but allowed his stark white chest hair to roam free. The shirt was tucked into pink slacks which were held by a black belt with a shiny gold buckle.

The man wore a lot of gold, more than Elliot had seen most people wear. He had three gold chains around his neck, and on the hand Elliot could see resting on the steering wheel were a number of gold rings. The man smiled at Elliot exposing three or four gold teeth as well.

He stared in at the man for quite some time, not sure what to make of the situation, only moving to push his glasses back up on his nose when they slipped down to the tip. The man only smiled, meeting Elliot's eyes, not letting go of the gaze, never flinching.

Elliot suddenly felt as if his mind was detached from the rest of his body. He looked down and saw his feet stepping towards the car.

No, no, no, he thought, Don’t you take another step. Not one more step.

“Yes, please, come,” said the man reaching over to open the passenger door. Elliot stooped down and sat in the car.

“Oh, I am so happy you decided to join me Mr. Benson sir,” said the man. He stepped on the gas and took off down the street. Elliot looked at him in disbelief, and as soon as the car lurched forward, his mind collided with the rest of his body, like a plane crashing into a mountain side.

“Where are you taking me? Where are we going? What - What am I doing in here? Oh my - oh my God -” Elliot’s breathing became labored and he scratched at the window like an excited dog.

“Please, Mr. Benson, as I said before, do not be alarmed,” said the man.

Elliot was suddenly calmed. His breathing slowed almost to a stop. He wiped the snot from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and picked his glasses up off of the floor.

“Well - what do you want from me?”

“Hmm?” said the man as if there was nothing at all, “Oh you mean, why you are in the - I see - Just to talk sir.”

“Talk?”

“Yes sir. Many apologies if my accent is troubling for you sir.”

“No no, that’s not it, I just....am not understanding what is happening here.”

The man didn’t reply. Elliot sat silent too, staring at his reflection in the side mirror.

“What do you want to talk about?” Elliot said after a few minutes.

“The weather,” said the man turning and smiling. “No no, I am just kidding you. A little humor, yes? We talk about....what ever you want to Mr. Benson sir.”

“Well for starters, who are you?”

“Me? Oh of course, my name is Jon.”

Elliot couldn’t help but laugh a little at the man’s name. It wasn’t at all what he was expecting it to be.

“Why do you laugh, sir?” Jon said smiling.

“Is that you’re real name?”

“It is very much my name sir. My parents had dreamed of moving to America....”

Elliot’s thoughts wandered during Jon’s speech about his immigrant parents. He didn’t care at all about him, or where he came from. He just wanted out of the car.

“....and now here I am with you Mr. Benson,” said Jon. Elliot suddenly realized that maybe
he should have been listening to what Jon had just told him if he wanted to know what was going on.

“So, why am -”

“Were you not listening to my tale?” Jon said, looking very concerned.

“Oh well, of course I was Jon. Why wou -”

“It is okaaaay Mr. Benson. Again, more humor. I knew you weren’t listening the entire time. Ooohooo, you are too much for me sir.” Jon said wiping a small tear from his cheek.

I’ve got to get out of here, Elliot thought. He eyed the lock and the door handle. As soon as we come to a red light.... It suddenly occurred to him that they had not stopped since they left the curb. Jon was making only right turns. They hadn’t gone far from where they had started, and by Elliot’s calculations, they would soon be back.

“May I inquire something of you Mr. Benson?”

Elliot nodded, quickly trying to figure out what the question was going to be.

Sex. Please don’t ask if I’m attracted to men. Please please please.

“We do not know each other, yes? Yet here we are, stuck in this...this ugly machine, moving at a pace that is much to dangerous to leave from. For how long, you do not know. And neither do I? So what do we do? What must we do?”

“Is this where I answer you?” asked Elliot, trying to end this conversation and change the topic to something that was more pertinent to him at the moment - leaving the car.

“No no no, sir, please allow me to continue. What must we do? We must converse with
each other, no? We must be friendly, cordial - ”

“Okay, okay,” said Elliot becoming frustrated. “What the hell is your point Jon?”

“My point is....My point....” Jon looked thoughtfully at the road for a minute. Elliot tried to focus on the same spot. White lines shot under the car. Laser beams from an unknown source, never ending .

“You and I are merely strangers in a car, yes?” said Jon.

Elliot nodded.

“So isn’t that all we really are sir? All of us, I mean. The car is a familiar setting, one that makes it easy to engage in polite conversation because we have to. That may sound shallow, but what is most important about what we are doing? We cast aside anger. Embarrassment. Fear. Those things go, fwoomp, out the window,” Jon said making a gesture with his arm toward the window and smiling, showing his gold spattered teeth.

Elliot didn’t respond. He sat on the words. He ate them, turned them around in his mouth, spit them out and ate again. Jon pulled the car to the curb and turned it off.

“That is all we ever are Mr. Benson.”