She sits in the car, staring ahead, her lips a straight line. With one glance you can’t pick up on the nervous tapping of her foot, the microscopic twitch of her fingers around the Styrofoam container in her lap. You may not pick up on the way her eyes dart to the door handle, but eventually, you’ll notice the stream of tears down her left cheek. Whatever flipped the switch doesn’t matter anymore. She’s not thinking about the worthless argument, or the feeling of rage it brought on for no reason at all. All she can think about now is the noise in her mind.“This.IsNot.You.This.IsNot.You.This.IsNot.You.”She imagines unbuckling her seat belt, unlocking the door, and sailing through the open space to her death.This.IsNot.You.Does the car coming up on the right have the capacity to crush her right away? Will she feel it for long?This.IsNot.You.This.IsNot.You.Could they revive her?Stop.Would she be deformed?Stop!Would her son recognize her?STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW! GOD, HELP! HELP ME! HELP ME!Her husband sighs, his eyes looking over to where she sits, motionless. “So, are you going to say something? I’m sorry I upset you.”Flip.She reaches up, wipes her tears, and takes a breath before looking back at him.“Sorry, babe. I had to ride the wave.”
Where do movie makers get their ideas for the next blockbuster?Writers.How do the news get to our Facebook timeline?Writers.How do we decide which new diet to follow, or what new habit to start? Probably an article or a blog written by... yep, you guessed it.
Outside the rolled up window of our Chevy Equinox, the world was the live version of a snow globe. I watched the passing of Evergreen trees dusted with snow so soft, it looked like powdered sugar.
Among the miles of bedrock embellished by icicles, stood out a red cardinal perched on a snowy limb. The sight went by quickly, but in that single moment, the shock of his red feathers against the white hills and rocky walls lining the roads to the Queen City shook something inside me...
Dear sixteen-year-old me,