Impasse

We are at an impasse. There is a destination that we can both see, a shining city whose lights are just visible over the edge of the horizon. But there are two roads that diverge just ahead of our car and we both have steering wheels and I tell you “what are you thinking? Why are you turning left? I’ve been down this road a hundred times, I know which way will get us there. That way will get us lost; it might get us there eventually but the streets aren’t marked and I think there might be road construction” and you say “but that way you are pointing us is so unsafe! The road is windy and against a steep cliff that has no guardrail! And it looks like rain and if it rains the pavement well become slick and we’ll surely hurtle off the edge like a special effects car!” And we both know that either fork has its potholes and unsafe stretches and unmarked turns, but we are both so certain that our way will get us there with the least bruises. And the fork is so close, coming closer with every second and still you steer left and I steer right and we still can’t agree on which way the car will eventually turn and instead of driving off the marked road, onto the grass and gravel between the car will rip in half, sending each of us off, alone. And we’ll each reach that city, the one that we made plans to visit together, and we’ll be alone, without maps or reservations or currency, getting funny looks for driving half a car with only two wheels. And we’ll be lost, and maybe we’ll spend weeks looking for eachother in this strange city until finally you catch sight of me buying groceries and run into the store and yell, “where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!” or maybe we’ll spend a weekend and realize we have better places to visit, places where there are friends with couches to sleep on, places with familiar restaurants and coffee shops, places with new driving companions. And we’ll leave that city and wonder why we left home in the first place.