Drive By Night

(Signs of the Times is a work of fiction based on true events. Views expressed are the characters’ own. Viewer discretion is advised.)

A car pulls up to the curb in a sleepy suburb outside the city. The driver shifts the car into park. The exhaust flows out into the night. Raindrops fall, illuminated by the headlights.

A young man in a black rain jacket emerges from a house. He crosses the lawn, checks the license plate of the car, and opens the door.

“Yousif?”

“Gabe?”

Yousif smiles in the rearview mirror.

“It’s really coming down,” he says.

“They’re saying it’s the most we’ve had on record for this time of year,” Gabe says.

“I hate the rain.”

Gabe smiles back. He puts his hood down and searches for the seat belt and buckle.

Yousif hears the seatbelt click. He shifts the car into drive. He looks over his shoulder and pulls away into the night.

“Where are you going tonight? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s a concert. Some venue way out in the north side of town.”

“Who’s playing?”

“Dutchy? Something like that.”

Yousif guides the car through the quiet neighborhood. He hasn’t been to this area before. His instincts guide him back to the highway that took him to this place.

He waits at an intersection. His face is bathed in red light. He looks in the rearview mirror.

“You like the music?”

“What music?”

“This Dutchy. His music.”

“It’s fine. I’m mostly going to see friends.”

The light turns green. The car moves through the intersection. Yousif watches the road ahead. The wiper blades thud with every return to the bottom of the windshield.

They move across the city in silence. Gabe looks out his window. He watches tent villages pass by. There’s a fire in a trash can under a canopy. A few people huddle around it. Gabe looks for their faces. As the car passes and fades into darkness, his reflection reveals itself in the window. He turns towards Yousif.

“You drive through here a lot?” he asks.

“I drive everywhere,” Yousif says. “It’s what I do.”

“You think these neighborhoods — the ones like this — get worse or better over time?”

“It depends. I almost hit a person last week. Some woman. Definitely on drugs.” Yousif comes to a stop. A man in a business suit with a needle and spoon leans against a bus shelter. They watched the man practice his craft from inside the car.

Greenlight. They’re moving again. Yousif drives faster.

“But it’s better than where I was before.”

Gabe nods. He watches Yousif’s eyes scan the road.

“Everything gets better with time,” Yousif continues. “Trends positive. But in Iraq, where I am from, that country is shit.”

Gabe nods.

“It felt like things were not better. The death. The corruption. The lack of electricity. We went from two hours a day to four. Everyone was happy for that.

“But millions of dollars for schools, for the people, just disappeared. The treasury said something about a leak in the roof where the money is stored. They said the money was ruined by the leak. To prove it, they took maybe a thousand dollars and threw it on a puddle in a room. They said all that money had to be thrown out. But there are mansions being built somewhere with that money.”

“Huh,” Gabe says. “Sounds like something that’d happen here, too.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I left Iraq to go to Cairo. And I thought Cairo was the best city. I watched women get harassed, surrounded by gangs of men. They touched the women. Called them awful things. But I thought that was okay because it was better than the kidnappings and corruption and poverty in Iraq.

“Then I had the chance to come to America. I almost didn’t. I thought Egypt was so great. It was the best country I’d been in. Why leave? But I left because my friend said America was better. They said all the gangs and shootings and violence was just one percent of what we’d come from. So I left.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Gabe adds. They were almost at the end of the ride.

“I hate the rain, but I’m glad I’m here, too. I’m happy here. For the most part.”

Yousif steers the car towards the curb. The glass on the car rattles with concert noise.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Have a nice night.”

Gabe scoots out the passenger’s side. He exits the car. Closes the door. He taps on the body of the car twice. Walks toward the venue.

Yousif checks his phone. He has another ride. He turns the wheel away from the curb. Back into the night. He wonders how people sleep nearby. He chuckles.