~Lyric 04~
On the way back from the hospital we saw
A message on the license plate of a car.
It said GOD HAS. Has what?
Decided finally what to do about it?
The answer to the question that you asked?
The whole world in His Hands? Fucked up? Again?
Apologized? Failed to apologize?
The car went on its way ahead of us.
—David Ferry, "The License Plate"
Matt knew that Mello could see the license plate around the bandages. Even through his single Cyclops eye — the one that wasn't covered, the one half swollen shut, with the bruise all ripe like a plum — Mello had been able to read it, and this Matt registered. He swallowed, hard. He should have asked the nurse to sedate Patient Mello for the ride home. For his own good. Matt bit his lip until it stung. The road slid past beneath them, meter by meter.
It didn't take long.
"Matt."
"No." Matt kept his eyes on the road; his fingers fused themselves to the steering wheel. "Don't think about it."
The little car put on its break lights ahead of them, and the message drifted nearer. Matt contemplated toeing the gas and ramming into its smooth backside instead of slowing down.
"He's trying to tell me I'm going to burn, Matt."
Matt didn't know which god Mello was referring to.
Mello's breathing was labored and wheezy, and Matt found his own lungs didn't fare much better. It was all he could do not to rip the wheel off the dashboard and hurl it like a discus, forward through the windshield of the automobile that mocked them. Mello writhed — a squirm as feeble as an earthworm on hot pavement — and opened his mouth to say something else. "Shut up and sit still," Matt commanded, but Mello barely seemed to hear him.
A feverish string of mutters, and a weak jab toward the bumper of the ill-placed vehicle. "You can see it too. It's… Matt, I—"
Matt brought his foot down on the break like a hammer. He'd had it; reflex took control of his motion. The violent, rocking halt of their car elicited a gasp of pain from Mello. Horns screeched from all directions, upbraiding Matt for his shitty driving. He didn't care. He gripped the steering wheel until his breathing no longer came labored.
The white car with the message kept driving, rolling farther and farther away. Mello groaned.
"Just let it go, Mello," Matt whispered softly, but his hands were still shaking. "Let it go."