You got your first car around when I met you. The abuse from an unstable confused teenager is still shown in the cracks and paint, dents from other people, you said. It still runs, but it’s mine now.
The scars are gone from your fast and furious disclaimer do not try this at home or in a 2004 Ford Focus in the parking lots of a Home Depot at 4 am slam into the curb. Of course, it was just a raccoon, or maybe a goose, that decided to be in front of your car. You forgot which it was, too. But I know the memory, the feelings of fear and adrenaline, even if I wasn’t there. I felt them through you, through all the remaining scars of the car, and they’re mine now.
The stereo you reminisced with old embarrassing bands we enjoyed in a previous life, it’s gone, finally, swapped from something so-less-last-decade but there’s a gap where it fit. The CDs you left me were thrown out. They were mine, but they weren’t right. The memories were too strong. I can’t even remember when I lent them.
I threw your stuffed animal to my dog to destroy. It was not mine to do so, but I did. You didn’t seem attached to it even when you were at my side. But this car of memories of you, of yelling out lyrics together, of late night nicotine filled talks and crying, sobbing even, kisses at the stop lights, hands held watching the rain, snow, leaves, and wind blow our lives by.
They will continue to be mine, and I will continue to be selfish, looking out for myself.
These memories feel stolen, like I was a conman buying a car for the price of a large iced coffee only on paper and ran off with these good times of us together, friends or not, lovers, or not. Anything to each other, or not. They make the car feel larger, the speakers need to be louder so I don’t hear your laughter in my head.
The car is mine now, still, even though I can no longer call you my friend, my dear, my love, my ghost.
I will never be able to outrun these memories, even if I get the car fixed. You’re already in the passenger seat next to me some days. But, it may not even be necessary to run from them; they will just be here for the journey.
~~~~~~~
Published in Horizons Literary Magazine (2018)
Skyway Writing Festival Second Place Winner (2017)
The scars are gone from your fast and furious disclaimer do not try this at home or in a 2004 Ford Focus in the parking lots of a Home Depot at 4 am slam into the curb. Of course, it was just a raccoon, or maybe a goose, that decided to be in front of your car. You forgot which it was, too. But I know the memory, the feelings of fear and adrenaline, even if I wasn’t there. I felt them through you, through all the remaining scars of the car, and they’re mine now.
The stereo you reminisced with old embarrassing bands we enjoyed in a previous life, it’s gone, finally, swapped from something so-less-last-decade but there’s a gap where it fit. The CDs you left me were thrown out. They were mine, but they weren’t right. The memories were too strong. I can’t even remember when I lent them.
I threw your stuffed animal to my dog to destroy. It was not mine to do so, but I did. You didn’t seem attached to it even when you were at my side. But this car of memories of you, of yelling out lyrics together, of late night nicotine filled talks and crying, sobbing even, kisses at the stop lights, hands held watching the rain, snow, leaves, and wind blow our lives by.
They will continue to be mine, and I will continue to be selfish, looking out for myself.
These memories feel stolen, like I was a conman buying a car for the price of a large iced coffee only on paper and ran off with these good times of us together, friends or not, lovers, or not. Anything to each other, or not. They make the car feel larger, the speakers need to be louder so I don’t hear your laughter in my head.
The car is mine now, still, even though I can no longer call you my friend, my dear, my love, my ghost.
I will never be able to outrun these memories, even if I get the car fixed. You’re already in the passenger seat next to me some days. But, it may not even be necessary to run from them; they will just be here for the journey.
~~~~~~~
Published in Horizons Literary Magazine (2018)
Skyway Writing Festival Second Place Winner (2017)
