Always wear your seat belt

Staring at the Sea / The Cure













Leah and I are parked at the new Walmart. She wasn’t ready to go home. So we are sitting in the car, windows open. I wonder what it would have been like to have a Walmart and a McDonalds growing up in the area. Our fast food was a thirty minute drive. Snipits of other’s conversation drift in to the car. Leah is chain smoking.



“You want one?” She asks for the thirtieth time, knowing I don’t.


I shake my head no. I know she wants the company so she won’t feel guilty, but that’s not my problem. I think she shouldn’t smoke.


The trip has made me irritable. The ghosts have become unfriendly. There is an old ratty Camero next to us that is taunting me....


“Sorry about your windshield.” It’s my voice, soft, sounding sincere. But was I? My current anger blocks the memory.


“Wh… how did that happen?” Randy was angry. The crack ran from the lower right on the diagonal and was reaching toward the rear view mirror as we watched and drove on into the twilight.


“My head hit it.” I snapped, there was no contrition then. It was snide.


He’d been dead set on not letting the other car pass. I’d told myself later it was good that he’d hit the break hard. It would have been a head on collision if not. The disregard of the passenger, me, was secondary. I’d had my seat belt on.  It was fine...


I shake my head to drive away the image. Every time I thought of that day since I got angrier. The Camero’s real driver has returned and is backing away.


“We should get back.” I snap. I want to be away. I want distraction.


“Yeah. Your right.” Leah sighs and lights a new cigarette off the end of the old one. “I’ll have to stop and get gum.” She is the only one who thinks no one knows she smokes.