A Curious Traveller

• Nathan Lam, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2014

“So... bored.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.”
Latham stared out the car window, tapping the dashboard in front. Cars. People. Cars and more people. He seemed to be watching a broken film, one which he hadn’t chosen, nor wished to continue watching. Wisps of clouds drifted across the sky; slow, but moving.
“How much longer?” he groaned.
“Probably half an hour at this rate. City traffic is really bad on weekends.”
“What’s the point of seeing grandpa, anyway? He probably wouldn’t even know we came. He’s asleep half the time and...”
“Which is why we’re going? Now be quiet.”
“But...”
His dad shifted his gaze from the road.
“Fine,” Latham muttered.
There was only the occasional thump of a pothole. Latham started counting the passing cars, but he eventually lost track with his eyes half closed. Instead he began studying the people in the other cars.
He saw singles and families. He saw children and grandparents. He saw smiles and glares. Each headed for a different place, yet they were stuck on the same road.
The woman in the car beside them wore a simple, blue dress and swayed her head from side to side. She sung silent words and tapped the steering wheel. Her car slowed in the lane beside them, but she was still smiling. Car horns blared, and the traffic slowed.
“Just like I told you,” said his father, sighing.
Latham gazed at the sky, so blue, so vibrant, so infinite. All the clouds seemed to float the same way, caught in a current they could not escape.
As he yawned, an old lady pulled up beside with a boy in the passenger seat. They spoke silent words like a muted film. The boy laughed and the lady smiled. Suddenly, the boy started pointing out the window at something, but the lady mouthed, “Yeah, I see,” and kept her eyes on the road ahead. Latham wondered how many lies he had been told.
The lady edged ahead, replaced by a man in a suit. His head rested on the car window, but his gaze flickered from place to place. His index finger tapped the steering wheel, and he sighed every few seconds.
Latham sighed and allowed dreams to take him.

The engine had stopped.
“Latham.”
He woke up and saw the hospital at the other side of the car park. Everything was still. The clouds were thicker, and the world greyer. They got out of the car and headed towards the entrance. Latham trailed behind. They walked through the sliding doors and approached the reception table. Only the secretary was in sight.
“Hi, sir. Can I help you?” she asked, without looking up.
“Yeah, can I see Patrick Rogers?”
Silence. The secretary raised her head and looked Latham’s dad in the eyes.
“Sorry, what was the name again?”
“Patrick Rogers.”
“I am so sorry.”
Latham turned around and looked out the window. The setting sun set fire to the clouds. But like all fires, it would inevitably smoulder out.