Turning In, Into, To, Through, Throughout, Out

At 10:27pm, just as lightning flashed and heavy rain drops began to fall from a hot mid-May sky, the silver SUV in front of me turned left off of two-lane Inkster road. As and after the silver vehicle had gone from my central visual field (because my neck stayed still; and my eyes only moved slightly, passively, regarding whatever came before them), I caught the red glow of a still-burning cigarette, moving diagonally across the pavement and toward the shoulder as I drove over its rolling or tumbling path.

I assumed the man in the SUV had been smoking. I watched the cigarette butt, the red dot intently, though with detachment.

I turned on my windshield wipers. I had witnessed the little fire before it went out. I gazed into the rain as it splashed on the glass, and was smeared away to dribble down the metal car body, and then drip flying backwards with the wind caused by driving, falling onto the pavement, blending with everything, becoming invisible.

The tires, my tires, grazed over the wet ground. The rain graced me with height, motion, some sort of divine lightness coming from where it had fallen onto the road and upwards; the rain lifted the car and I flew, turning and turning, spinning to follow the path of the silver SUV, flashing red and white lights, and then darkness. I had witnessed the fire before it went, before I went, I had witnessed the fire.