intersubjectivity
He gets the text at one in the morning, and doesn't even have to look at his phone to know who it is.
Hey. Still up?
Indeed. He responds. What's up?
What do you think of heading up to SF for the weekend?
He blinks in suprise, and almost wonders if she's joking before texting her back.
Hmmm. Could be fun, though it's a pretty long drive. Any particular reason?
He stares at the screen for a few minutes, waiting. Just as he's about to give up and go back to his book, the reply arrives.
I was thinking of taking a trip up the coastline. Haven't been up there in a few years. Maybe stop in pismo beach and monterey? There's an aquarium there, you know.
It's a long time in a car, he figures, but it's also good company and a good trip. He pauses for a moment, checks his calendar, and then ignores it completely and sends a response back.
Yeah, I remember it being pretty good, though it's been a year since I've been. Let's do it!
Her answer is instant: Great. See you saturday!
---
They've just finished a long, leisurely lunch, and are making good time up the coast. They stop every once in a while simply to admire the views of the surf crashing onto the beach. After the road starts to climb into the mountains, it gets a bit colder, and he takes a moment to reach into his bag to find something unfamiliar - a hoodie from the chowder place they just left.
"What's this?" he asks, turning to look at her.
"Oh, just a little thing that I thought you'd appreciate."
"Yeah, with the hundred other hoodies I have," he says, chuckling.
"Well, it was that, or take a picture of you with soup on your shirt, so I thought you'd prefer this..."
He grins and sticks his tongue out at her, but looks back down at the hoodie afterwards, and smiles. He's touched, honestly, and happy to have a memento that's not just in his head.
---
He remembers the crash clearly - they're talking about relationships, of all things, and she's chiding him for dismissing the last girl he was with as 'lacking in creativity'.
An Ani DiFranco song comes on, and he teases her about it - he's saying something snarky as he looks at her, and then past her, to the SUV that's come around the corner too quickly and is barreling down towards the driver side of the Corolla. Towards Emma.
He turns to her in slow motion, and opens his mouth to say something, to scream a warning as the airbag deploys, as the bag of cheetos explodes, and he notes that some small distant part of his mind would find the explosion of cheese puffs across the car hilarious.
Then his head hits the airbag and bounces, hard, and none of him finds it funny. He feels the jerk of the seatbelt cutting off his breath, the impact of the airbag on his face, and then the whiplash as he bounces back into the seat, slamming his head on the headrest. He hears the sickening crunch of the crash, watches the glass spiderweb and shatter out, and feels the car rise up on the front wheels, spinning as it does.
And then it falls, with a thud, and he closes his eyes. He hurts, everywhere, and he just wants to close his eyes and drift away for a while.
---
But there's something nagging at him, something that won't allow him to to just close his eyes and let go. Someone that he has a responsiblity to.
Someone that he went on a trip with - this trip with. The name is at the tip of his tongue, but in his muddled state, he just can't seem to remember it. His mind traces through through a car, through them leaving SF, through a bread bowl of clam chowder, through a hoodie, bought for the sake of a memory-
"Emma," he breathes, and then his eyes are open and he turns to look at her - she's there, but not moving, slumped over the now deflating airbag, the wheel, her head down and her nose dripping blood.
"Em? Emma?" he says, again, louder, but she doesn't respond. But as he looks at her, her lips are moving, as if she's saying something, to someone he can't hear.
The sunlight filters through the dust motes and he almost thinks that he sees someone else there, but it's broken as someone in the distance peers at them, waves, and says words that he doesn't hear over the ringing. All he thinks about - all he knows - is that she's in the car with him, that she's on the trip with him, that she's spent most of this past year with him, and that she needs to be okay.
He reaches for her weakly, fingers tentatively brushing aside the glass shards, and finally finds her hand. As he slips his hand in hers and squeezes, she squeezes back, though he doesn't know if she's doing it consciously. In the distance, he hears sirens, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
"Em, can you hear me?" he tries again, more urgently.
Nothing.
He starts to scrabble at his seatbelt, trying to get the damn thing to unclick, starts to try and see what he can do to tend to her, to care for her, and and then he hears her cough.
"Em! Hold on, Em! We're gonna get you out of there." he hears himself saying. He says something else, something reassuring, and tries to lean in, to hear her better.
"They told me... don't be afraid," he hears her say, clear as day.
"They were right," he responds. "Don't be afraid. I'm not leaving your side."
And then, as he sees the faintest smile on her face, he feels her squeeze his hand again and he knows it'll all be okay. More than okay, in fact.
"I'm never going to leave your side."
------
This was an entry with an incredible writer and a wonderful friend that I met through Idol years and years ago, gratefuladdict. She's one of the main reasons that I'm here at all, and it's a joy to be able to write an intersection with her again this year. We wrote about a journey up the California coast that gets cut short, and her entry can be found here: Rapture of the Deep.
♥ team loveli
Hey. Still up?
Indeed. He responds. What's up?
What do you think of heading up to SF for the weekend?
He blinks in suprise, and almost wonders if she's joking before texting her back.
Hmmm. Could be fun, though it's a pretty long drive. Any particular reason?
He stares at the screen for a few minutes, waiting. Just as he's about to give up and go back to his book, the reply arrives.
I was thinking of taking a trip up the coastline. Haven't been up there in a few years. Maybe stop in pismo beach and monterey? There's an aquarium there, you know.
It's a long time in a car, he figures, but it's also good company and a good trip. He pauses for a moment, checks his calendar, and then ignores it completely and sends a response back.
Yeah, I remember it being pretty good, though it's been a year since I've been. Let's do it!
Her answer is instant: Great. See you saturday!
---
They've just finished a long, leisurely lunch, and are making good time up the coast. They stop every once in a while simply to admire the views of the surf crashing onto the beach. After the road starts to climb into the mountains, it gets a bit colder, and he takes a moment to reach into his bag to find something unfamiliar - a hoodie from the chowder place they just left.
"What's this?" he asks, turning to look at her.
"Oh, just a little thing that I thought you'd appreciate."
"Yeah, with the hundred other hoodies I have," he says, chuckling.
"Well, it was that, or take a picture of you with soup on your shirt, so I thought you'd prefer this..."
He grins and sticks his tongue out at her, but looks back down at the hoodie afterwards, and smiles. He's touched, honestly, and happy to have a memento that's not just in his head.
---
He remembers the crash clearly - they're talking about relationships, of all things, and she's chiding him for dismissing the last girl he was with as 'lacking in creativity'.
An Ani DiFranco song comes on, and he teases her about it - he's saying something snarky as he looks at her, and then past her, to the SUV that's come around the corner too quickly and is barreling down towards the driver side of the Corolla. Towards Emma.
He turns to her in slow motion, and opens his mouth to say something, to scream a warning as the airbag deploys, as the bag of cheetos explodes, and he notes that some small distant part of his mind would find the explosion of cheese puffs across the car hilarious.
Then his head hits the airbag and bounces, hard, and none of him finds it funny. He feels the jerk of the seatbelt cutting off his breath, the impact of the airbag on his face, and then the whiplash as he bounces back into the seat, slamming his head on the headrest. He hears the sickening crunch of the crash, watches the glass spiderweb and shatter out, and feels the car rise up on the front wheels, spinning as it does.
And then it falls, with a thud, and he closes his eyes. He hurts, everywhere, and he just wants to close his eyes and drift away for a while.
---
But there's something nagging at him, something that won't allow him to to just close his eyes and let go. Someone that he has a responsiblity to.
Someone that he went on a trip with - this trip with. The name is at the tip of his tongue, but in his muddled state, he just can't seem to remember it. His mind traces through through a car, through them leaving SF, through a bread bowl of clam chowder, through a hoodie, bought for the sake of a memory-
"Emma," he breathes, and then his eyes are open and he turns to look at her - she's there, but not moving, slumped over the now deflating airbag, the wheel, her head down and her nose dripping blood.
"Em? Emma?" he says, again, louder, but she doesn't respond. But as he looks at her, her lips are moving, as if she's saying something, to someone he can't hear.
The sunlight filters through the dust motes and he almost thinks that he sees someone else there, but it's broken as someone in the distance peers at them, waves, and says words that he doesn't hear over the ringing. All he thinks about - all he knows - is that she's in the car with him, that she's on the trip with him, that she's spent most of this past year with him, and that she needs to be okay.
He reaches for her weakly, fingers tentatively brushing aside the glass shards, and finally finds her hand. As he slips his hand in hers and squeezes, she squeezes back, though he doesn't know if she's doing it consciously. In the distance, he hears sirens, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
"Em, can you hear me?" he tries again, more urgently.
Nothing.
He starts to scrabble at his seatbelt, trying to get the damn thing to unclick, starts to try and see what he can do to tend to her, to care for her, and and then he hears her cough.
"Em! Hold on, Em! We're gonna get you out of there." he hears himself saying. He says something else, something reassuring, and tries to lean in, to hear her better.
"They told me... don't be afraid," he hears her say, clear as day.
"They were right," he responds. "Don't be afraid. I'm not leaving your side."
And then, as he sees the faintest smile on her face, he feels her squeeze his hand again and he knows it'll all be okay. More than okay, in fact.
"I'm never going to leave your side."
------
This was an entry with an incredible writer and a wonderful friend that I met through Idol years and years ago, gratefuladdict. She's one of the main reasons that I'm here at all, and it's a joy to be able to write an intersection with her again this year. We wrote about a journey up the California coast that gets cut short, and her entry can be found here: Rapture of the Deep.
♥ team loveli