The Passenger Seat
Disclaimer: THIS STORY IS A STRAIGHT UP LIE.
"I'll be right back"
"hurry!" I yelled after him as he slammed the door.
I unclipped my seat belt and climbed over the center console into the passenger seat. I pictured Red and I on our road trip: a blanket over my knees, a weeks worth of garbage at my feet, in the passenger seat of my little red car.
He ran out of the rest stop.
"I'm driving?"
"Please?" I wined, "I'm falling asleep at the wheel. Just don't speed"
"Of course!"
He buckled his seat belt and slid the car into reverse. I relaxed my head against the seat and watched him, black hair and square-framed glasses. He smiled at me reassuringly and I felt myself doze off.
I woke up to the city of Hartford peeking its ugly nose out of the clouds. I stretched my arms and legs.
"I'm awake," I cooed.
"Good the album is over," he exclaimed.
I smiled and picked up my ipod. My fingers landed on New Found Glory.
"For old times sake!" I retaliated when he made a face.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Thomas telling me Algernon Cadwallader was playing our radio show. I let out a scream of joy.
He kissed my hand and my eyes traveled to the road: "LOOK OUT!"
But it was too late, he had cut the wheel. The car was spinning, spiraling out of control. My lungs were somehow screaming. My fingers were somehow clutching the passenger seat as all of my regrets poured into my mind:
"He hasn't got a license, what if you've killed him, if only you had been driving, what if we had not taken the turnpike, what about your father, poor little red car"
And then the last thought, the purest, the one that marks your coming to terms with the situation, with the screeching tires, with the burning rubber, with the impact that is sure to come: "everything is going to be alright"
CRASH. We're both alive.
"Get out"
"Ali, I'm so sorry"
"Get out"
He runs to the passenger seat as I crawl to the drivers seat.
I turned the car around to face the correct direction. I denied all affection as I watched the coolant drain from my engine. Somehow, you are able to hold yourself together after you've been shaken. Your body becomes cold like a temple and you simply go through the motions: The police, the tow trucks, your parents. You simply do it.
I watched them drive the car into the garage. Its headlight was like an eye socket swollen with poison ivy, pushing its contents inwards. I choked and recovered, thinking of how sad it looked, its bumped torn to shreds.
"I gota tell ya'," the mechanic said, "The cars worth less than the damage will cost."
I nodded, trying to overcome the dread that was creeping in over my body. I went into a spiral again. I heard the contempt in my father's voice as he agreed to wreck the car.
I denied all sympathy as I cleaned my belongings out of my car.
I hugged the steering wheel like a child, digging my nails into it as if I had a choice on whether or not I had to leave.
Its a choice to be in the passengers seat. A choice to lie to save a friend.
The choices that forced me to say goodbye to my little red car.
"I'll be right back"
"hurry!" I yelled after him as he slammed the door.
I unclipped my seat belt and climbed over the center console into the passenger seat. I pictured Red and I on our road trip: a blanket over my knees, a weeks worth of garbage at my feet, in the passenger seat of my little red car.
He ran out of the rest stop.
"I'm driving?"
"Please?" I wined, "I'm falling asleep at the wheel. Just don't speed"
"Of course!"
He buckled his seat belt and slid the car into reverse. I relaxed my head against the seat and watched him, black hair and square-framed glasses. He smiled at me reassuringly and I felt myself doze off.
I woke up to the city of Hartford peeking its ugly nose out of the clouds. I stretched my arms and legs.
"I'm awake," I cooed.
"Good the album is over," he exclaimed.
I smiled and picked up my ipod. My fingers landed on New Found Glory.
"For old times sake!" I retaliated when he made a face.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Thomas telling me Algernon Cadwallader was playing our radio show. I let out a scream of joy.
He kissed my hand and my eyes traveled to the road: "LOOK OUT!"
But it was too late, he had cut the wheel. The car was spinning, spiraling out of control. My lungs were somehow screaming. My fingers were somehow clutching the passenger seat as all of my regrets poured into my mind:
"He hasn't got a license, what if you've killed him, if only you had been driving, what if we had not taken the turnpike, what about your father, poor little red car"
And then the last thought, the purest, the one that marks your coming to terms with the situation, with the screeching tires, with the burning rubber, with the impact that is sure to come: "everything is going to be alright"
CRASH. We're both alive.
"Get out"
"Ali, I'm so sorry"
"Get out"
He runs to the passenger seat as I crawl to the drivers seat.
I turned the car around to face the correct direction. I denied all affection as I watched the coolant drain from my engine. Somehow, you are able to hold yourself together after you've been shaken. Your body becomes cold like a temple and you simply go through the motions: The police, the tow trucks, your parents. You simply do it.
I watched them drive the car into the garage. Its headlight was like an eye socket swollen with poison ivy, pushing its contents inwards. I choked and recovered, thinking of how sad it looked, its bumped torn to shreds.
"I gota tell ya'," the mechanic said, "The cars worth less than the damage will cost."
I nodded, trying to overcome the dread that was creeping in over my body. I went into a spiral again. I heard the contempt in my father's voice as he agreed to wreck the car.
I denied all sympathy as I cleaned my belongings out of my car.
I hugged the steering wheel like a child, digging my nails into it as if I had a choice on whether or not I had to leave.
Its a choice to be in the passengers seat. A choice to lie to save a friend.
The choices that forced me to say goodbye to my little red car.