The Kraken

I should've known he was a demigod. At sixteen, he drove my mother's Chevy Citation into a brick wall with such force; the engine block breached the dash and his chest cracked the steering wheel. He tried to hurl the case of beer he'd been swilling over a fence, but the ensuing rain saturated the cardboard and gave out mid swing. The cops burst onto the scene as Budweiser's rolled down the hill.

The Kraken, as he'll be called for the duration of this post, was sent from the depths to wreak havoc on commuters. His roar sounded like: "All this drunk driving is bullshit. What they should do is test you after one beer. If you can drive fine, then they should put a one on your license, two beers, then you get a two, and so on. I drive better drunk," meaning any spark of fear was extinguished with a dose of alcohol. Predicting incidents was as easy as predicting the sun's presence in the morning sky. It started when he stole a car from a neighbor, twice, and was caught doing donuts in a field.

Whenever an innocent driver needed to be harassed, or a brazen driver silenced, The Kraken was released to stalk the streets and highways. Three hours late picking me up from work one night, he followed a woman home that cut him off. He had no designs on her; it was her husband he sought. The poor woman drove around her apartment building with The Kraken in tow, screaming for her husband to intervene. When the husband came, he was swallowed whole.

Someone beeped at him after he cut them off. To scare us, they chased us, swerving as if to side-swipe our car. The Kraken called their bluff with a whip of the wheel and slammed into their port side. The tables turned and we chased them. But their vessel was faster and they escaped with only dented side panels.

During a simple trip to the store, we happened upon some innocents, angered by a flat tire on the side of the road. Their profanity in a school zone was too much for The Kraken, he swerved toward them to provoke the response that justified the beating they took. The Kraken's girlfriend shouted at me, "Go out there and help him!" I responded, "Help him do what," knowing the incident was over; The Kraken was already in the car, driving away.

While doing 50 in a 30, The Kraken gunned it when a police cruiser flashed his lights in pursuit. We would have made it if The Kraken's blind rage allowed him to think more than one move ahead. Turning right would have concealed us. We turned left. The cop arrested me for hindering his investigation after I lied when asked if The Kraken was trying to outrun the police.

After six DWI's and the threat of mandatory jail, The Kraken swam to Florida in a used, metallic maroon, Trans Am. During traffic stops, he adopted an alias, giving authorities my name and social security number. I'd routinely travel to his lair to turn myself in for warrants issued in my name. They'd drop the charges when the officer that wrote the citation failed to pick me out in a photo line up.

I recently found out that after decades of revocation, The Kraken got his license back. I will breathe a sigh of relief on the T tomorrow but will pray for safe passage over the Charles.