Your Driver Is Waiting

by Priya Guns

There is a sadness I feel and don’t often talk about. I don’t know how to fix it. It doesn’t excuse anything, but to add to all that, times were rough. The sun rose, the sun set. Cars rolled past me, and people carried on. I don’t know why we’re born, but I think a lot of people waste so much time not thinking about what they could do to make the world a little better. Make their own lives a little better. Even though I didn’t know how to make mine any better than it was. I worried that I would die in my car. That I would die unfulfilled. Or that I would die and not know what an easy day felt like. I worried that if I ever did, I would still not be happy inside.

I wanted to be one of those people holding megaphones, leading crowds into chants. I was useless in my car, even though I was essential and working in order to survive. I was nobody if I wasn’t there.