Down and Out

Urge for Going

Stephen Benz

The thought of another road trip at once entices and appalls. All those miles to cover, the tedium of the American highway—to what end? Long hours of solitude, soul searching, dramatic monologues—sick of yourself. And yet, in spite of all misgivings, here you are, loading the trunk, filling the tank, racing off into the boundless wasteland.

Ten miles out, magpies watch from wires. A hundred leagues on, road signs conjure towns but no towns appear. Every exit seems to go nowhere, a land of remnants: grassy sidetracks petering out, billboards in tatters, an abandoned mine, a derelict drive-in theater. You hurtle ahead into mirage while in the mirror magpies drop down to scour the trail.

Days on end it’ s like a movie of someone else ’ s journey. Zoom out to an overhead view, a long shot of the turbulent horizon: There ’ s your car in the middle distance, stirring dust, heading straight for calamity: bad weather ominous engine noises fissures roadblocks detours

the sudden dead end—no way to back out

The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism