Greetings! The following is a story almost 10 years old at
this point... I wrote it back in high school... a bit of
nostalgia mists my eyes now...*sigh*

Enjoy, I hope!

-Mike


++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"One Headlight."

By Mike Roop, copyright 1993

Disclaimer: None of the following events really happened,
obviously. Any similarity to real persons or events is
coincidence. Don't sue me, I'm broke and you wouldn't get
anything, anyway.


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"We can make it home ... with one headlight..."
-Jakob Dylan, the Wallflowers "One Headlight"
^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^


It used to be a game we played while driving at night.
When we were in high school, me and my friend Matt, on our
way to or from the movies or the mall, or wherever we were
going to goof off and check out the girls, we used to play
it.
Spotting the cars with one headlight.

We used to joke and keep points... We noticed that when
we spotted one, most had the left headlight out, and fewer
cars had the right headlight out, so lefties were worth only
1 point and righties were worth 5... We kept a running
total, we did, from one outing to the next... If we forgot,
or thought the other had cheated, we would just start over.

Along with that little game, after a short time, we had
come to a realization, more like we were making up a story,
you know, to give the game a little more history, that maybe
the cars or trucks, or what-have-you, that lost the left
headlight were like drones or pawns, the lower ranks... The
ones sans a right headlight, we so studiously determined,
were the leaders or generals that held command or domain
over the lefties. We thought it was a grand little idea
behind our game, and once in awhile we added to it, making
even more depth to the mythos of one-headlighted cars.

But, what started out as a game with added foolishness
started creeping in on myself and Matthew. Caught up in our
own story, both of us, when together or apart, would notice
even more when we were being followed by a car with one
headlight. There was even a night when I was driving home
very late, or early depending on your viewpoint, that I
noticed a one-headlighter behind me, a soldier-drone, it's
left light out, ~following~ me I thought as I lit a
cigarette nervously, and I immediately turned down a
diferent road on the way home, taking a round about path on
my way. Surely, I told myself as I turned, this guy doesn't
live down this way, there is nothing this way but houses and
farmland... But, sure enough, it also turned.

Naturally, I freaked out slightly, if not more, and I
turned off the radio now, which before had been blaring
loudly at 3 AM in the morning, and an unnatural quiet fell
over the interior of my rusty, blue Mustang LX. I could here
the wind whistling and the thrum of the tires, and the not
so quiet engine of my car. I knew these roads pretty well,
having lived in the same area since I was born, and I knew
many ways to get where I was going, taking many different
routes. So I thought I would again test my theory: was I
being followed?

I sped up, as was my nature; I always drove fast,
especially at night, because I knew the only cops around
were the sherriff or a deputy and they only came out when
they had a call... So I flew down the mostly-paved back
roads, dodging the potholes the county overlooked. I hit a
big dip in the road, what would be called a "low water
bridge" in the South, and the car bounced up and continued
on at about 60 MPH, and around a sharp corner onto a new
road. Surely the car behind me would not notice I had tunred
before it was too late and I would be home free.

Once on the next road I hit the gas more, pushing up to
70, then 80... If I got caught, I knew my mom would kill me
for getting such a speeding ticket. 80 in a 35, what a doozy
that would be. But how was I going to explain it? ~Sorry,
mom, there was someone following me~ Get real, that would
never hold up. It was then that I tapped the brake pedal and
slowed down to about 45; I knew maybe I could talk my way
out of that kind of ticket. I kept glancing in the rear-view
and side-view mirrors, constantly searching for the
headlight I had hoped was not there. I saw a brief flash and
my heart jumped into my throat.

But it was ok. It was just a light from over someone's
barn door entrance. That was all. I relaxed, and chuckled
out loud to myself, flicking the cigarette butt out the
window. I had smoked it without realizing it; that or it had
burned down when I wasn't paying attention, too caught up in
my own illusion late at night...

I pulled off that road onto Rt. 82 and further down 82
was my street. Not many cars down 82 at night, except for
Semi-trucks mostly... I drove down the last stretch, about a
mile, to my street. And as I was just slowing down and
turning into Plum Creek Drive, a car went past the other
way, down 82 in the direction I had came from.

The car had one headlight out...

They had seen which street I live on, now, the thought
came unbidden, they know where I live...

The next day, when I again met up with Matt, we talked.
And eventually I mentioned it. His face had then gone a
little pekid as he looked back at me. He then related a
similar story. We began to wonder then, if we were both just
too imaginative for our own good and this was just
ridiculous. So we laughed it off and went on with our
high-school lives, we had enough to worry about with girls
and college and the "real world" fast approaching.

After I graduated High School, I didn't see Matt as
often, and soon our time tapered off almost to not at all.
We got together maybe every month or two, or three as time
wavered on.

Then one day, I came home from work (screw college, I
foolishly thought) and found a message from Matt on my
answering machine. His voice sounded unsure, almost
quivering and shaky. He said I had to come by and talk to
him, he had something urgent and important to tell me.

I took a shower, as it was July in Ohio and very hot and
sticky, and put on some jean shorts and a tanktop. I drove
over to Matt's place; it took me about 15 minutes to get
there most days, depending on traffic. His car was there,
but absent was his parents Buick; the garage door was open,
his car in the garage, Matt was pacing in the driveway. I
pulled up and into the drive, got out as he walked up to my
Mustang. "What's up," I said cheerily. It ~had~ been a good
day so far.

"The generals know," he said. His eyes were wide with
fear. I can honestly say I had never seen Matt scared. Then
I noticed his hand was bleeding.

"Huh?" I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Matt, what's up? What happened there?" I said, pointing at
his bloody hand.

"The generals know we know," Matt said, licking his dry
lips. "And they tried to send a soldier after me." He looked
toward his car in the garage. I followed his gaze and
noticed a large oilstain seeping out from underneath. Matt
just looked away, off towards the slow sunset.

I walked over, closer to the garage. And then I saw it.
Auto parts were scatted around the cement floor, the tires
were slashed; I saw a utility knife with blood on it. I
assumed Matt had slashed the tires and got himself pretty
bad, too. The hood was up and I peered inside to see the
engine was a wreck of broken parts; a hammer lay tossed to
the side.

Matt was suddenly up beside me. "It won't start, now,
and even if it could, it ain't got tires," he said, not
sounding crazy at all, but just matter of factly. To be
honest, I wish he did sound crazy, I wish he was a raving
loon. But he was so calm just then, looking at the broken,
trashed car, it was even more unsettling.

My palms were sweating something awful, I noticed, so I
wiped them on my shirt as I walked back out into the open
air of the driveway. I reached into my car through the
window and grabbed my cigarettes. Matt didn't like that I
smoked, he was very religious, a church of the Nazarene kind
of guy. But I didn't care, I lit up anyway. Matt stood there
in the arc of the garage opening leaning on a tool chest.

It still hadn't struck me what he was talking about. The
generals and the soldier... the one-headlighters hadn't
crossed my mind in months. But they had Matt's...

It was getting dark, I noticed, so I said, "You wanna go
inside, watch some TV? Talk?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Let's go. Put out the butt,
though, man..." Matt walked into the house, letting me
follow. I flicked the butt out into the yard and went
inside. I knew his parents were the same way he was...

When we had sat down in the living room, he spoke. "The
One-Headlighters, Mike... We were right and we didn't even
know it."
I looked at him, now fully realizing what was tickling at
the back of my brain. It was there, but I sure as hell
didn't want to recognize it... "No way, man," I said, "We
made all that up. It's a joke... A game, Matt. What's really
wrong?" I was trying to go for something else; perhaps that
girl he was seeing dumped him. Maybe that was it. Or maybe
he didn't get accepted at that Seminary school... he wanted
to go to to become a preacher...

"That's it," he replied, "and it's no game anymore. They
know we know."

I got mad. I had better things to do than screw around
with this foolishness. If Matt wasn't going to level with
me, then I was leaving. I stood up.

"You do believe me, don't you, Mike?" he asked, his eyes
wide. "Come on, I ain't making this up!"

"Matt," I said determined, "This is the really Real
World. What you are talking about is a story we made up.
Fiction. Not Real."

"But it is real!" he pleaded.

I had enough; I shook my head at him and turned, then
walked outside. Matt followed, repeating himself. "It is
real! They know we know!"

I reached my car and opened the door. Matt was still
trying to convince me. I turned and put a hand up to stop
him.

"Look, Matt, we have been friends a long time. And it's
been fun, making up stories and goofing off. But you have to
know, deep down that this is not real! Cars with one
headlight don't have a hierarchy and they sure as hell don't
try to kill people! Now come on!" I shouted at him. My voice
echoed off the neighboring houses in the cul-de-sac where he
lived. I was worried we were being spied on and some old
lady would call the cops about a fight....

"But Mike," he said, looking pitiful and hurt, "You are
the only one who will listen! WE did this thing... WE
figured it all out! AND THEY KNOW!"

That was the last straw. "MATT!" I yelled, too loud for
comfort. "I'll prove it to you!"

Reaching in I pulled on the headlight switch,
illuminating Matt, the garage, and Matt's wrecked car. Then
I got under my front seat and pulled out the tire iron then
stormed around him and struck my driver's side headlight....
The right headlight. Matt fairly shrieked with horror as it
flickered out.

"ARE YOU NUTS MAN!?" he screamed. It almost sounded
comical.

I didn't care, I could buy a new headlight, big deal. I
turned around, almost laughing. Then I saw his face; he was
white as a ghost. He suddenly ran towards the garage and in
his haste he knocked over the tool chest. He reached down
and grabbed a ball-peen hammer and turned around, looking at
me with a quite mad gleam in his eyes.

"MATT! You are not going to total my car!" I laughed
through that demand, this had all become so ludicrous I
couldn't believe it.

Then my laughter caught in my throat. A rumbling behind
me made me jump. I stumbled and fell backwards into the
yard.

My Mustang had started up. All on its own. I could still
feel the keys in my hip pocket, this wasn't happening. The
Mustang lurched forward with a growl and squeal of tires. I
found that I couldn't look away as it barrelled into the
garage and Matt. I heard a sickening crunch and scrape of
metal as my Mustang crushed Matt into his wrecked, gutted
car...

They know we know, I kept hearing Matt say. They know we
know...

And I tried to tell them that when they came to piece
Matt back together. I tried to tell them that in the
hospital, and at the Hearing, and again at the Trial where I
was convicted of 3rd degree murder. Sometimes someone will
say they believe me, but I can tell they don't. They are
just trying to be polite. Even the paramedic who sits in the
ambulance with me now; he is just being polite. He even
tries to believe with me by telling me he sees a truck with
one headlight, right now...

But I am not crazy. I know I am not crazy, even as they
take me to the state mental hospital now. It wasn't just a
game, and it's not a joke. I don't joke anymore. Not about
cars with one headlight, and not even about trucks with one
headlight, like the paramedic is talking about now...

I follow his gaze and his gesture as he points excitedly
out the windshield of the ambulance at the Semi-Truck with
one headlight out, a left headlight, coming straight at
us... And I watch as it plows right into us...

Oh, they know. And they know we know...

And now they know you know, too...