Cover Photo: Photo by Emily Metcalf
Photo by Emily Metcalf

Lucky Star, The Drive Part 1

"Traveling inside herself in this way she has begun to feel a chill like steel, hardness like brick, and she longs to come back."

The road feels round, smooth and bumpy to her body as she rides in the car. The wind from the open window tufts her bangs, died blond and pink in homoerotic streaks. Lusting after the man in the driver’s seat next to her, she pulls a Satsuma orange out of her bag, begins to run her fingers over it and brings it up to her face inhaling the texture; round, smooth and bumpy. ‘I wish I could talk to you’ she thinks. ‘I wish I could express what I am really feeling right now.’ She looks out over the grassy fields flowing by like a river outside of the cell of the little old car. She looks past the smudge on the window, a smudge from the dog’s nose, and her eyes go soft and blur to the surroundings. She misses Chester so, so much. 

She knows that this pain she feels is not about Jacob. Her whole story is relevant. The years spent inside of a body where she doesn’t belong, always looking out into the world through the veil covering her eyes and feeling it pulse around her with expectancy. She wants to shrink, turn it off, run away. Traveling inside herself in this way she has begun to feel a chill like steel, hardness like brick, and she longs to come back. 

“I want to go back” she says. “What?” he asks. “Never mind,” she surfs and settles further into the seat, holding her piece of fruit very close. Ahead, the traffic leads them down the wide grey road, four lanes, like long corrals or runways for journeyman after journeyman. ‘We are here with those folks. I can feel them nearby. We all flow to a rhythm, unconscious yet totally dependent.’ One of her hands slips between her knees, and with the other, she messes with the radio nob; perhaps to some news or classical, so tired of the same old shit. 

‘I wish the people out there could see me in here. I wish they could know that I loved them and cared about them. I wish they really knew me; the rich pulpy and delicious seeds of my being that are quite the surprise once you break the skin… and the juice, it is a secret until tasted. But they don’t. They see nothing but my brake lights as I am in this car. They urge to get around me, pass me by. They crave to know nothing, to stay as white and blank as possible. Do they even feel the bumps, the smoothness, and the roundness? Do they take the time to feel anything? I think they are blind, they are all color blind, and I alone.’

The car swerves, jerking her out of her trance. She opens her Satsuma, and aggressively, calmly rips at the segments eating two or three at a time. The sweet and sour juice coats her tongue and the inside of her mouth. The flavor awakens her further to her surroundings. The wind pushes on the car and the rain suddenly begins to pour. She rolls down the window and sticks her head into the storm as they are led down the off ramp. The car slowing, she pulls her head inside and gives a great big laugh. “I am so proud of you,” he says. She feels she will never fully know how he can understand her so completely. How he knows exactly what she needs, in the worst of moments and the best.

The joy bursts inside her as tears stream down her face. Life isn’t over, and she desperately hopes and pleads with whatever power exists that it will not end soon. In her mind and body, the pain hurts so bad and so deep… so much that with this partner, she feels love on the same epic scale; so intense, always too much. She reaches in the back seat for a towel and dries her pink blond hair, pulling the rubber band out from its clutches, and letting it hang long. Small droplets of water fly onto his face. He loves her… he always will.

 

My book "Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness" is now available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble online. You can also contact me directly at [email protected] Follow me on Instagram for writings @moonflickerstone or check out my Blog, www.welcometothegrit.squarespace.com