Destination

“Are you lost?”

My body starts as my head swivels to engage the voice that breaks the silence. I see nothing but a shadowy visage in the inky blackness.

“I don’t know.”

I hear my voice respond, the sound both familiar and foreign at the same time. I hadn’t meant to answer in that manner and I curse myself internally for the reflexive response.

“You don’t know?”

There is a smile playing on those words. I can hear it. Questioning with gentle mockery. As though the speaker is stifling laughter deep inside. As though I should always know where I am.

“No.”

My voice comes out barely above a whisper, the end of the word trailing off and fading into nothingness.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

All these pointed questions. As though I should have answers. In my mind, I ignore the question, but in reality, the words tumble out.

“I thought I knew, but now I’m not so certain.”

My voice, stiff soft, still unsure, seeps out as though that opening question removed the plug that stopped the dam from unleashing its contents.

“Not certain? Surly you had set out with a destination in mind? No one heads out without knowing where they are going. Not here. Not like this. Not with me. That’s impossible!”

The voice, no longer playful, is incredulous. Aghast that someone would start a journey without a destination, so unsure of themselves. Especially this type of journey.

“I did know. Or I thought I knew. But now I’m no longer certain. What if the destination changes along the way?”

“Don’t be a fool! A destination simply does not change! It is, and always will be, where it is. There are irrefutable laws that govern such things. Destinations do not change on whims. A destination is immovable. It is concrete. It is the end point.”

That’s also what I’d believed as well until that very moment those words had escaped my now parched lips. I have no choice but to double down, sink my feet in, and defend my words.

“But it has changed. And there were no whims involved. I’m not where I’m supposed to be at the end, although I’m supposed to be here, right now.”

My bold words echo with newfound vigour. They are carried with far more weight and heft than those I’d delivered earlier, buttressed by a conviction I possess in my hands.

“That’s absurd! Listen to yourself! If here is where you ought to be, then by simple logical reasoning, you have arrived at your destination. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Yes. That’s true. When you put it that way, I suppose that makes sense.”

My brain is spinning. I am confusing myself. The voice is confusing me. I shake my head to find clarity.

“Of course it makes sense. If you have arrived where you’re supposed to be, then logically, you’ve arrived at your destination. There is no other way about it. You are where you should be, isn’t that so?”

There is no hiding the laughter in that statement this time. The mockery. I must defend my honour and so I do.

“But it was you who asked if I was lost.”

“Yes, because unless your name is Karen, you’re in the wrong Uber.”

And with those words piercing me, a hot flush rising up my face, I look down at my phone and realize the driver is right. Silently, I open the door and step out. And there, sitting directly behind the beige Toyota in the lane way, is the beige Nissan as described on my phone, the driver peering out at me.

That, is my destination.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash