“Fare Thee Well”

by Nathan Schmidt

Nicholas Alfred Whipsworthy stood on his head in the middle of a four-lane freeway with an apple balanced carefully on his left foot, and he had no idea why. He mumbled to himself:

“Not fishsticks again. It’s always fishsticks.”

and he asked his mother if he could please, please have just have another radish instead.

This was the opportune moment when the fact that he was standing on his head on a white dashed line in the middle of the northbound side of a four-lane freeway, and that he had an apple balanced on his left foot, presented itself to his consciousness. The moment was so opportune because there was, at the same instant, a young female motorist flying down the right lane of the highway in a red Volvo, who was so wrapped up in her cell phone that she barely noticed Nicholas. It could be argued that she didn’t notice him because no motorist on the highway is expecting to see someone standing on their head in the middle of it. It could also be argued that it was the cell phone, or perhaps the irate voice on the other end of it. What matters, however, is that she barely noticed Nicholas. If she hadn’t barely noticed him, he would not have had this opportune moment to realize that a young female motorist in a red Volvo was bearing down on him at an alarming rate. Admittedly, the rate became less alarming as the ABS system in the red Volvo kicked in, but that somehow caused the alarmingness of the situation to increase in direct proportion to the decrease in the rate of the vehicle. This made Nicholas wonder for a moment why she even bothered to slow down, if all she was going to do was make things worse with that horrible racket.

“Chug-UG, chug-UG, chug-UG, chug-UG,” went the anti-lock brakes as the speed of the car rapidly slowed from seventy to thirty miles per hour. Nicholas raised his eyebrows towards the pavement (since he was still standing on his head) as he realized that he was going to have to move out of the way if he wanted to avoid decorating the Volvo with a red of his own. This was a problem for him, since he knew that he would almost definitely drop the apple if he moved. He had no idea why he was balancing the apple on his foot (as was often the case with most anything he did), but he had an unshakable feeling that it was for some very important reason, otherwise why would he be doing it in the middle of the highway (as was often the case when he did something in the middle of the highway)? The closer the car got, though, the more easily shakable the unshakable feeling became, until his instincts of self-preservation won out and he dove as best as he could from his position out of the way into the left lane.

He could dive into the left lane without worrying about being hit by other, faster traffic on that side because it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and the freeway that was so busy at other hours was, at that time of day, comparatively unfrequented. The red car shot past, wheels screeching, miraculously not swerving far enough to hit him. He immediately began frantically searching the ditch on the left side of the road for the apple. The girl in the red car, on the other hand, had pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and was getting out of her car. The conversation that ensued when she had gotten out and begun to walk towards him went something like this:

“My god, are you all right?”

“Ah, yes!”

“Oh, good,” and she let out a sigh. “God, I’m so sorry…I didn’t quite see…you−”

“No, I found it! The apple I was balancing, or looking for, or…juggling or something. Would you like a bite?”

“Excuse me?”

“A bite. Of the apple.”

She was so confused and distraught at such an unexpected reaction, that the only mildly intelligent thing she could think of to say was, “What kind of apple?”

A wide grin spread across his face. “Why, the apple,” his eyes opened wide and he lifted his eyebrows, “of madness.”

She paled. Slowly, she walked backwards towards her car, as though by slowing her rate of motion she could become invisible to him. “God,” she whispered, and it was the nearest thing to a prayer she had ever said.

Something snapped in his already stretched-too-tight mind, and he yelled, “No, please don’t go! You can’t leave me here with this stupid apple! I was confused – I didn’t know what I was saying – I never know what I’m saying – it just comes out and I can’t help it – Mother, please, put the knife down! I already know you never loved me!”

She screamed, jumped into her car, started it, and floored the gas pedal.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the road. His hands shook as he stared up at the starry heavens and wept. A black Mercedes swerved onto the shoulder and back again to avoid him, blaring its horn all the while. All that came from his quavering lips was, “God, I’m alone.”