The Home Stretch

The blackness of the Michigan night did not stop Jason Einhorn from starting his car. The sound of the autumn wind did not slow down his speed. The jet lag did not make him weary and it sure would not be stopping him from getting home that night.

Jason Einhorn was a businessman, and a well-respected one at that. A mid-30 gentleman with hair that's color can only be compared to the black ink of a printer. This was hair that had had Jason's hand run through it many times lately, partially out of stress but mostly out of longing. He had been in New York City the past two months hawking his company's newest product, a plastic that is environmentally-safe and biodegradable. Although he was winning over clients left and right, the hotel he stayed in was no comfort to him. Despite it's placement on the 75th floor of one of the most elegant hotels in Manhattan, nothing compared to the sweet, warm feeling of being at home with his fiance, Natalie.

He had proposed to her six months ago, and a week before finding out about the trip. Expecting this news to be met with tears and anger, Jason was surprised to find that his soon-to-be wife was more than understanding.

"I'll be here when you come back," was all Natalie said as she grazed his cheek.

Jason took these words to New York with him, thinking them over as he looked at the skyline. Though they made him smile as well as tear up, he thought of Natalie often. She was his emotional parachute after his father died and he lost his job two years ago. Without her, Jason was certain, he would have fallen to depths he could not fathom. With Natalie's support and caring nature, Jason recovered from his sorrow and self-pity and found a job at H&U Inc., the aforementioned plastics company.

These days, his life was together. He had survived two months without the love of his life, and now all that stood between him and her were 20 miles of empty roads.

The country roads at night would pose an ominous threat to most city drivers, but Jason had taken this route hundreds of times. He knew the way from the airport to the house by heart: A left bank, a right, a straight shot, a hard right turn, then a final straight shot home. It was all a matter of keeping your eyes open for rogue deer, although most were asleep by now, and not becoming hypnotized by the driving.

Jason decided that he would throw the high-beams on, as there didn't appear to be any oncoming traffic as far as he could see. With the flip of the switch, his car emitted a power blast of light that shone on trees well over a mile away. Jason was occupied with his mind again, thinking of Natalie. He began thinking of what to do once they were together again. Whether to hug her tight, or kiss her straight off, or just lie down with her and stare into each other's eyes all night. He couldn't help but want to do all three.

He zoomed past a mile marker at 85 m.p.h., but Jason knew there were no cops patrolling these roads, and if he got caught, it was likely by someone he knew, and he could get away with it without a problem. He eased up as he reached his first mental checkpoint, the left bank. The high rock face on the right side of the road was awe-inspiring during the day, but at night, it proved to be nothing more than a wall that was partially lit up by car lights. With the left bank behind him, Jason kicked it up to 90, but then had to ease up once again as the right bank came along.

Then he hit the danger zone, the 10-mile straight shot. Jason knew many people, including his best buddy, Arnold, who had dozed off behind the wheel due to the sheer lack of will it took to drive. Arnold was lucky enough to hit a soft spot in a ditch and suffered only a cut on the head and a hefty mechanic's bill. Even though this was like a real-life PSA to Jason, he couldn't slow down now, not with Natalie so close. He began thinking about what her reaction would be when he returned. Would she just smile that smile that made him smile back or would she scream with glee at his grand return? Jason knew whatever she did, he would cry at it. He missed her so much he pressed the gas peddle unconsciously, boosting his speed to 95.

The positive aspect of this long stretch was that it gave those with good imaginations a chance to run wild. Jason took advantage of this opportunity and began planning his first outing with Natalie after he got back. He'd take her out to that Italian place they don't go to often enough, Patenero's, and she could get the most expensive wine on the menu. They would go for a stroll along the lake, and if it got cold, he'd have his jacket right there for her, and at a moment's notice, it would be draped over her shoulders along with his arm. They would drive home and smile at each other every five seconds and laugh every time they did it. Then they'd walk in the door of their home and...

A chill was sent through Jason. The shock from this sudden cold made his heart beat faster and he zipped up his coat a little bit. The heat was on, the windows were up, there should have been no reason for such a feeling. The thought of this made Jason a little edgy, as his attempts to continue thinking of his perfect date were stifled in trying to figure out where this chill came from. Jason was without an answer, but didn't mind suddenly as he realized the straight shot was coming to an end and the hard right bank was on its way. He quickly began applying pressure to the brake, going as slow as 55 before leveling off. He began prepping for the turn when he caught sight of a deer on the side of the road.

The deer, as the phrase applies here, was caught in his headlights of Jason's car. The eyes of this deer locked with Jason's, and from that point on, they could not be detached. Though well away from Jason, he could see the bright blue surrounding the shrinking pupils of the deer. They were majestic, as if looking into the face of God, Jason couldn't break away. His mind shut off and his breathing was at a standstill. He and the deer stood still in time, it seemed, while the whole world continued to go on. Without even knowing it, Jason's body was still driving the car and had successfully managed the turn and left the deer behind. All at once, Jason blinked rapidly and took in a deep, desperate breath, as if he had just been held underwater for a length of time. That chill from before was nothing to what he felt now. Jason was shivering uncontrollably, as if having taken a December dive in Superior. His hand, shaking with vigor, grabbed hold of the A/C knob and cranked it to its warmest settings. But before it could even kick in, the cold went away, as if a blanket of ice had been lifted from Jason's body.

Jason, for the first time in his life, was genuinely frightened. But even with all this going on in his head, he realized something else was wrong. He should be looking at a sign right now reading, "Welcome to Kulla, Michigan", the sign letting him now he was back home. Jason looked as far off into the distance as his eyes would let him, but all he could see was a straight road. Not the straight road he was accustomed to after making that turn, though. This one featured no signs on the side of the road or late night cafe lights shining in the distance. This road was similar to the one just taken by Jason, identical even. Jason couldn't accept that, it was impossible. He drove faster, as if frustrated by these occurrences. He was hitting 80 when his brights caught the glimpse of an oncoming turn, a hard right.

Jason hit the brakes with a force that jolted him forward a bit. When his speedometer read a steady 60, he let go of the brake. Then he felt the presence of the deer again, as if it were watching him intently from only inches away. His head kept facing forward, but his eyes looked left, searching for the deer. Sure enough, it was there again, caught in the bright lights he shone at it. The connection between their eyes was made again, leaving Jason speechless. He didn't think anymore in sentences when looking into the huge orbs of this creature, merely coming up with words in his mind. "Away", "can't", "turn", "cold", and "Natalie" were just some of the things his brain was able to produce. This animal, with it's gaze, was haunting to Jason. It was as if he were seeing a ghost. Again, his body made the turn while his mind was taken by the deer. And once out of sight of it, Jason gasped for air again, blinking over and over, but the regaining of control of his breathing came later than last time. Then the feeling of that descending chill from his skin to his bones came back, worse than before. It was subarctic in his car, he couldn't even move out of fear that his bones would snap like icicles.

But it all went away, just like before, and Jason regained heat. But as he basked in this momentary warmth, it occurred to him that he was back, back on the straight road. He slammed on the brakes with all his might until it finally came to a dead standstill. Was he going crazy? Hallucinating? Had he died and this was some sick dream of the dead? Jason went through these possibilities and ones even more insane until he couldn't think of any more. Curse words from A-Z flew out of Jason's mouth without any breaks in between. If he was crazy, he was about to make himself sane again, he decided. Jason was becoming frustrated, to the point where he was punching the steering wheel. A range of emotions were flooding Jason, and his predicament was sending him into a flurry. He hit the gas in his moment of rage and went head on. 10...40...80...110...Jason was hitting the breaking point of his car, as evidenced by the excessive rumbling. But he pressed on, the turn was right in sight.

Jason closed his eyes shut, to the point where it actually hurt, but he dared not open them, he didn't want to see that deer. He was legitimately afraid to see it again. There was no plan here, he just drove, fast and forward, into the trees he went. Like an explosion of light, Jason saw a flash of the deer in his mind. It was burned in there, seared in, and Jason felt a pain from it. He grabbed his forehead at the sharp blow to his head he felt from this vision, causing him to open his eyes as wide as possible. All he could see was a white light blinding him, and he prepared for the car to slam into something any second.

But the light faded, and he felt the ground moving beneath him. The familiarity of driving returned, but did not comfort him.

Miles and miles and miles of straight road lie ahead of him, and all there was left to do was cry.

Jason stopped the car and put his head on the wheel, defeated. All this had happened so fast, the strangeness of it all, that he was overwhelmed. What was going on? He couldn't even think at this point, he just let loose tear upon tear on the steering wheel, which dripped on his seat. He slammed his fist on the dashboard repeatedly, not stopping to notice he was beginning to bleed from it.

After what he believed to be half an hour, he looked up and out the window. The high beams, ever so brightly lit up the road he could not pass. After so much of it, Jason just stared, without emotion now, down the road. But deep in the recesses of his mind, Jason had a plan. It was primitive in it's scope, but it was all he could conjure up at the moment. So he unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car, not bothering to even turn it off.

He walked. For the first mile, Jason trudged through the brisk night, with one single thought in his mind. But soon enough, he began to run down the road. Guided by the light he ran with all his remaining energy. His legs began to buckle, and his breath ran short, but he only pushed harder then. Tears ran down Jason's face from the cold, unforgiving wind sweeping across the road. Finally to the point of collapse, he dropped down to his knees, exhausted. And as he took deep breath after deep breath, spitting in between. This is when he finally noticed the blood pouring from his hand. It was then that he heard the clicks of footsteps nearing him as he laid helpless on the icy concrete.

Jason moved his head to get a view of what he already knew was there. The deer, in all its majesty, moved in on Jason, when the eyes met again.

Like ice water flowing through his veins, the eyes of the deer gave him a chilling pain that was absolute torture. Jason had nowhere to go, and yet he been so close to where had wanted to be. Again and again, so close, and having to face the pain of almost being with her, his love, Natalie, was worse than death. He couldn't speak, didn't dare try, and yet Jason was able to mouth the words he longed to scream, "Natalie...please."

At this, the pain left, and Jason could think once more. The presence of the deer was gone, no more eyes were being laid upon him, and best yet, he could breathe normally. But he felt that rumbling, that acceleration, of being back in the car, hitting top speeds. How did he...it was useless to think anymore. Jason hit the brakes and got out of the car again, but didn't bother walking or running, he just screamed. He screamed until his throat felt like it would rip, and he just yelled for her, his one and only love, Natalie. Over and over, he yelled her name. Through the voice cracks and burning tears, he yelled her name. He was trapped, alone, without her. But he couldn't do it forever, and he dropped down on his knees once more, in self defeat. He couldn't get back to her, even though she was so close, so damn close it made him want to throw himself in the woods and die there.

With his face in his hands, and knees on the ground, Jason cried. The thought of never seeing Natalie ever again, the meaning in his life, was too much to bear. He could only wish to hug Natalie and feel her warmth again. He begged to have her arms around him one more time, just one more time...

A soothing lamp light made Jason squint. A feeling of confusion swept over him, wondering where he was and how he got there. He jumped out of bed and threw himself toward the window, and suddenly back when he glimpsed what was outside it. Jason was looking over New York City's Times Square from his hotel room.

It was a dream....just a dream. No. A nightmare, the worst of his life. Jason rushed to the bathroom and ran his head over the cold water of the sink. It felt good, it felt real to him. He breathed a sigh of relief like no other and toweled off.

Natalie!

He grabbed his hotel phone and dialed with pianist-like precision. It rang, and it rang, and it rang. Click.

A smooth, comforting voice answered, "Hello?"

"Natalie?"

"Jason?"

...

"I love you."

"I love you too, honey. What is it?"

"I just needed to call and say that to you. Natalie, could you say what you told me before I left?"

"I'll be here when you come back."

"I love you, Natalie."

"I love you too, Jason. I'll see you tonight?"

"I'll be there. No matter what happens, I'll be there."

Click. Jason grabbed his briefcase and plane ticket, threw on his coat, and rushed out to catch the next plane out of New York to Michigan. He wouldn't be driving at night anytime soon.

Recollections of Timothy Fredericks: Founding Father

Chapter 7

From what I can remember, the room was alive with smoke, free-flowing tea, and talk of politics. The smoke was emanating from the pipes of many wigged gentlemen, the tea being poured in endless amounts by a properly dressed fellow making his rounds, and the politics concerned limiting the fundamental rights of women.

We were in Philadelphia, and the first meeting of the most prominent politicians in the land had just begun. We had been told to meet at this get-together by Thomas Jefferson, who let us pick the city to meet in. We chose Philadelphia because most of us had grown accustomed to it over the years, and the decision to meet at Benjamin Franklin's house was a group consensus. Franklin had not been particularly thrilled at this decision but alas he gave in.

"Not everybody wins in a Democracy," he quipped.

This was the gathering of what was later to be dubbed The Founding Fathers' League.

"The name was my idea," John Adams would always remark.

So here we were, the greatest political minds of our day, and yet none of us were quite sure why we were here. Jefferson had sent out invitations to all of us, we knew that much, but he was sketchy on the details.

"Perhaps it's another one of his orgies," Hamilton suggested.

This put Franklin in one of his trademark "Franklin tiffs," which consisted of him pacing around the room, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with tears. After we concluded it wasn't a famous Jeffersonian orgy (after all, where were the slaves and saddles?) we decided it must have been a political matter for which we were called to. But what about? Britain? We all thought we had a great standing relationships with the homeland, aside for some recent troop harassment, we were all quite content with our situation. Who wouldn't be? A prosperous colony protected by the greatest army the world had ever witnessed, coupled with the high influx of cheap tea, we were in Heaven. As the well-dressed man came by and poured me some of that tea, the door burst open. It was Jefferson in all his red-haired glory. We all stood at attention, except the frustrated Washington, who's teeth had fallen into his teacup.

"I beseech you to heareth my words, gentlemen," Jefferson bellowed.

Jefferson, ever the wordsmith. After Washington regained his composure, Jefferson asked us all to take a seat, for he had something important to tell us. At least, that's what we assumed. He began on about some additional troops that the King had recently sent to patrol Boston. Big deal, it happens all the time. Then Jefferson droned on and on about independence and revolution. Some of us grew impatient with this never ending lecture on liber-something. Madison was the first to crack.

"Where's the slaves!?"

Jefferson was expounded by our lack of appreciation for his declaration which he had claimed to have worked on for days. He yelled at us about how all we cared about were ourselves.

"Here here!" We cheered.

Upon hearing this, Jefferson took out his flintlock and shot a round into the ceiling, much to Franklin's disdain.

"That's authentic stucco, you ass."

The whole room had gone silent at Jefferson's outburst. The smoke settled in our pipes, the tea sat untouched, and politics were the last thing on our mind. This man was clearly insane. Jefferson berated us for what seemed like minutes on our selfish behavior and indulgence in luxuries. He obviously wasn't getting through to us, in fact, Charles Cotesworth Pinckney had actually dozed off in his seat while John Jay picked his pocket.

Then everything took a turn as Jefferson spoke words that would strike heart in the fear of any man. A sentence constructed so perfectly to scare, that no spine could resist the tingle. This is what made us all listen to Jefferson, possibly for the first time in our lives.

"You all do know that King George recently put another tax on us without representation, right?"

Patrick Henry scoffed, "On what, chicken feed?"

We laughed, oh did we laugh! Patrick Henry had always been the most reliable for a chuckle, ever since his raucous rant on the difference between White people and the French.

"You know the worst thing about the French? The French always want credit for some things they are supposed to do. A Frenchman'll brag about some stuff a normal man just does. A Frenchman'll say some stuff like 'I take care of my children.' You're supposed to you low-intelligent ninny! What kind of ignorant stuff is that!? 'I have never been to the penitentiary, sir!' What do you want, a cookie?! You're not supposed to go to the penitentiary you low expectation-having halfwit!"

We laughed for a fortnight at that. And while we scoffed away and considered Henry's brilliance, Jefferson hit us with the news that would change our lives forever.

"The tax was on tea, one-eighth pence per dram."

The scoffing stopped instantly, the upper-class chortling went dead, and Franklin passed gas. All this made for a disturbing silence.

"That's right you snobby imbeciles, your precious tea has been taxed behind your backs!"

We stood up, nearly simultaneously, and threw up our fingers in protest. We spoke at once, yelling various claims of "this cannot happen" and "how dare that George". I could only make out snippets of these protests amid the volume and confusion.

"I'll go broke entertaining all my guests!"

"What will I serve my prostitute?" (100 pounds says this is attributed to Monroe)

"What will I bathe in?"

"Hey, Pinckney's not breathing."

All these were drowned out my another Jeffersonian gunshot to the stucco ceiling. Franklin let out a whimper and the room went still again. He looked at us intensely, as if he had just had his way with Sally. Those eyes burned with something. Revolution? Lack of tea? No one in the room was sure. We knew we were thinking revolution and already we were feeling pressed by this tea tax. Those British bastards! Who do they think they are? Apparently Washington and I were on the same page.

"Here's the plan, gentlemen. We shall revolt against these barbarians of taxation. Fight against the tyranny of that King George. Jefferson, that stuff you said earlier, write it down. Just spice it up some, can you do that? Alright, we are going to get stuff done. Who in the Devil's name are they to mess with us?"

We hollered and hooted uncontrollably. To fight our homeland, to cut ties, to take on the greatest army in the world (not personally, we have citizens for that). This undertaking would be grand. No man or country shall make us pay so much for our tea. And that representation deal? Not cool. Those troops have been awfully pushy lately as well. Those red-coated demons will pay for the grievances they've caused us. Blood will spill until my cheap tea returns.

I screamed with all my heart, "TEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!"

And that's how I remember how the Revolutionary War started.
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ADDITIONAL HISTORICAL FACTS

-Franklin's stucco ceiling was eventually fixed by Jefferson, who felt so bad, that after Franklin died, Jefferson became President in his honor. Without acting to honor Franklin, Jefferson would not have been elected in a thousand years. [Source: My Life In Hell. Thomas Jefferson's Autobiography]

-The room was also full of Hamilton's children. He couldn't find a sitter. [Source: A Collection of Founding Fathers' Letters to the Goode Olde Babysitting Service]

-Pinckney did not die, but his heart did stop for 97 seconds. He spent the rest of his life in a bed, drooling. [Source: Guinness Book of World Records 1776 - Ugliest Man to Have Survived Myocardial Infarction]

-Washington only decided to lead the army after being tricked by Franklin into believing the post would include access to a mythological Pegasus. [Source: The Many Trickeries of Benjamin Franklin in Colonial Times]

-Jefferson had forgotten some of what he had said, and requested it be checked over and improved by the town drunk, who's name is lost to history. [Source: My Reluctant Admittances. Thomas Jefferson's Confessionals]

-Patrick Henry's "White People and The French" routine would later be read by secret history buff Chris Rock, who would modernize it in his act "Niggas vs Black People." [Source: Bigger and Blacker commentary track]

-The term "Jeffersonian" was used for the first time in this recollection, it would later be applied to things he was less popular for among his peers. These being architecture, political philosophy, and democracy. During his days, "Jeffersonian" was used by the Founding Fathers to describe an other's high level of douchebaggery or "excessive queerness". John Adam's prickness for example, had a Jeffersonian quality to it. [Source: My Life In Hell 2 - A Continuation. Thomas Jefferson' second autobiography]

-Jefferson never had an orgy in his life. That didn't stop him from spreading rumors, though. [My Sad Twisted Lies - A Further Confessional. A sequel to My Reluctant Admittances]

-Timothy Fredericks went on to become a Special Advisor during the Washington Administration. His two main contributions were his suggestion to name the capitol Washington, D.C. and the invention of crack cocaine. [Source: Recollections of Timothy Fredericks: Founding Father, Chapter 21]

In The Year...Today

The future has been predicted, depicted, and restricted. Predicted by futurists, scientists, and day dreamists. Depicted in movies, film, and the silver screen. Restricted only by our lack of motivation and initiative. I know something about the future that not even the brainiest Asian physicist could calculate. The secret is that we'll never get to the future; that it will never come to fruition.

Sure, you'll say, "But the future has to come, doesn't it? Isn't the future just a minute from now?"

I would heartily reply, "No. Now go get me coffee."

Even with my detailed rebuttal, you'll probably still ask the usual whys about my theory, so let me dumb it down for you.

Fantastical concepts such as jetpacks, hovercars, teleportation, and a multiracial intergalactic space crew are still the stuff of dreams, are they not? True, there are jetpacks, but they last 30 seconds and they tend to blow up without warning. And teleportation? Scientists are starting to question if it's even feasible, and some going so far as to call it out and out bullshit.

If some of these ideas aren't even possible, why would people have written about them in futuristic novels? It makes no sense. Write a future book about something that could happen, you cockteasing novelists!

Now you'll say, "Oh, they're just fiction writers."

"Shut up," I'll wittily retort.

After I've successfully argued my position I would explain that these "great thinkers" shouldn't put in our heads ideas of a utopia of flying jeeps and cheap alien tail (I mean "tail" in the literal sense) unless we can one day fly these jeeps and procreate with these rainbow-colored creatures.

However, there is one point I may consider and this point actually restructures my theory a bit. Maybe these wonderful possibilities are in fact possible. Except, our present selves have become so expectant of the soon-to-come prosperity of solar-powered skyscrapers (that can walk) and weapons of planetary destruction that no one has actually bothered to pursue these creations. They sit in their labs twiddling their thumbs, playing Solitaire on their supercomputers, waiting...waiting...waiting for someone else to cure cancer. Nothing will get done because we will all understandably think that there are others shaping the future for us.

"Dude, haven't those Malaysian guys solved that poverty shit yet?"

But these complex questions will never be answered with an enthusiastic "Hell yeah!" Instead, the test tubes get dusty and the blueprints get tossed away.

This is because the future is full of procrastinators, putting off the inventions and ideas and instead pursuing hot cars and hotter women, or so is my understanding of procrastinating scientists. By 2015, according to Back to the Future (based on a true story, I believe), we should have hovering skateboards, flying cars, and the 19th installment of Jaws. Where are they? Huh? I want my damn Jaws.

What we need to do is get these lazyass scientists to get going. Throw some incentives like million-dollar paychecks and all the finest robotic women that they can build out of old Game Boys and broken DVDs. I believe very strongly that unless we end present day procrastination concerning all things futuristic, our present selves will never experience the future that people of the past predicted our present day selves would have...in the future.

To be honest, I don't know what the fuck I just said.

Secret Police / Don't Speak

How badass would it be to be part of a secret police? Huh? It'd be pretty badass, right? Yes, but there is a downside. It's not the morality or ethics of the job. I can deal with pummeling a guy or yelling at schoolchildren to get on the ground. That I can handle. The part that would get me in trouble is much more selfish. Petty even. It's that I'd want to tell everyone that I work for the secret police, and I wouldn't be able to. When I say I'd tell everyone, I mean everyone. The people I see on the street, the people I ride the bus with, my co-workers, even that douchebag Kyle who mumbles to himself. I'd tell him, then probably smack him with my secret police baton.

See, when you're a secret policeman, with your secret benefits and secret health insurance, you can't just go around and brag to the world that you are in the same field as the Gestapo or KGB. For one, people tend to react negatively about that. Especially when I accidentally let slip to my Jewish friend Norm Gordon of my profession. He let slip some profanities and punches. Two, the point of a secret police is that no one should know of its actual existence. We're the guys who raid your house at night at kidnap you in your PJs, we can't be seen as everymen. We need to be the boogiemen. And this is the inherent problem of being a secret policeman.
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I was in my car the other day at a stop light. Anyway, at this halt to my excessive speeding, I turned on the radio station that specializes in playing light rock from the 90s to today. I need to listen to this every now and then because my high-stress life requires Matchbox Twenty and John Mayer on occasion.

So here I was at this damn red orb of no movement when the song came on.

"You and me, we use to be together, everyday together always..."

In case you haven't inferred already, this melodious voice was coming from Gwen Stefani during her No Doubt days, and the song being "Don't Speak." Now I've been listening to this song for years, not continuously, but with a few breaks in between. This listen was different, normally I can just sing the lyrics and enjoy the song without thinking about it. But this was a long red and I was far behind the first car below the light and I started paying attention.

Damnit if this isn't the most depressing song ever. Sure, Gwen sings it perfectly and the instrumental part is classic, but if you listen to the song, you'll cry your heart out. It's ten times worse if you can empathize with it, which I can, sort of.

This had me thinking. This is one of those powerful, meaningful songs that can be used to make a moment or situation incredibly poignant. Except, this is about a very, very specific situation. It's about Gwen's relationship with No Doubt guitarist Tony Kanal and the heartbreak they suffered after their 7-year relationship ended. This emotionally driven song is sung with all of Gwen's heart and sticks with you after it's over.

So after I was done crying and the women in the car next to me stopped looking at me oddly, I hit the gas. Then something hit me.

I wanted to use this song. At that moment, I would've been willing to start a loving, long-term relationship with someone, likely a woman, and then break up with her after about three years or so, perhaps during our engagement, just so I can use this song and make me feel like it was written for me. I'd send her the song via email, and make her cry. But she'd probably thank me later for finding such a perfect song for our situation. Then I'd lip-synch over the song and make a YouTube video and send it to all my friends.

"Oh my God, that song was soooooo written for you," my friend Jessica would say.

"I know," I'd reply back with a grinning emoticon.

Just as quickly as these thoughts came, they went away. I drove on down the road when the next song came on.

It was Jumper by Third Eye Blind.

"I wish one of my friends were suicidal..." I thought.