The night was saturating. Haphazardly
guided by the disembodied voice of a woman presumably from Great
Britain, we weaved around each corner, trusting that we would be led
out. The darkness seemed to close in on us from every side. The two
dimmed beams of my headlights striking vainly into the blackness.
Droplets of rain on the windshield obscured my view. I leaned in,
peering through the crude swiping of the windshield wipers. The kind
English woman reassured us with every passing directive that we were
not lost. Turn left. Turn right.
The dense, midnight forest fed into the
fear. We passed by an occasional home; windows dark, porch light
off. Reminiscent of a canoe ride down white water. Deep in the
Western Maine woods we searched for something familiar. Twisting and
turning, blindly following directions from a computer hundreds of
miles above our heads, whirling around the planet at thousands of
miles and hour. No gas station. No convenience store. Not even a
semblance of a downtown. There was only trees and rain and darkened
houses.
The wind whipped and whirled, whistling
as it squeezed into the crack and crevasses of my car. I half
jokingly hollered and complained; arguing that a paper map would be
far superior at this point of time. Cracking jokes about never
making out alive and postulating how it would all end.
Then suddenly, a right turn and we came
face to face with civilization. A popular summer lake front,
complete with lakeside restaurants, motorboat rentals, and hotels.
Most of all, streetlights. The night took a step back as we drove
lazily down the long boulevard that seemed to come out of nowhere.
The fear was swept away on the winds and the frustration washed away
with the rain. Homeward bound and out of the boondocks.
Interesting reading this, having just read the 'My street' piece. That one is straightforward and does not strain after effects--and by 'strain' I mean that, if the reader is aware of the writing, there is some strain showing.
ReplyDeleteSo here the first graf strains, the rest much less so. Look at that first graf. Here it is without the extra effects--see whether you think it's been neutered, made too bland:
The night was wet. Guided by the disembodied voice of a woman with an English accent, we went around each corner, trusting that we would eventually be led out. The dimmed beams of my headlights were not much help. I leaned forward, peering past the crude swiping of the windshield wipers. The kind English woman continually reassured that we were not lost. Turn left. Turn right.