Saturday, April 30, 2005

The Forest
I wrote this a while ago for English. I had to describe things and this was my attempt. There are some parts of the piece that feel like they don't correctly flow together, but I like it anyway. I'm heart broken right now so it feels appropriate.

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I bump up and down as I drive through that dirt road I used to know so well. In those days the bumping was done in his father’s cherry red pick-up truck, a monster of a machine that felt way too spacious for someone as small as I. It smelled like new leather and aftershave, entirely his father’s scent. Elliott, on the other hand, smelled like soap . . . zest to be exact and a light hint of fabric softener. He was clean and warm. He reminded me of a lemon drop. It always seemed like we drove for hours until we reached the clearing that looked out onto the interstate highway. He listened to NPR on the way and made fun of that hushed whisper of a radio voice NPR disk jockeys just happen to possess. It really wasn’t very funny, but he made me giggle anyway, hard enough so that the sides of my chest felt like they were being squeezed tight. The best part was finally getting there though. They hadn’t gotten around to building lamp posts back then so there was no light pollution. It was just this endless expanse of road, sky and stars and trees. He’d put the car in park so that the engine was just a low rumbling roar and pull down the windows while I settled on the hood. After putting on the songs he knew made me feel in love with him, he’d settle in next to me wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

It’s probably been three years since I’ve been here. The drive is actually only twenty minutes from my mother’s house. I timed myself because for whatever reason I enjoy knowing how long it takes me to do things. I guess it was the build up of anticipation back then that made it feel like hours and days were passing. Being alone with Elliott was a golden opportunity that filled me with all types of bad— no, good thoughts. I’m sitting in my car by myself this time around though, looking out my windshield without really looking at anything. My Camry smells like cigarettes and a desperate attempt to mask that scent with incense. I don’t smoke myself, but I’m a bartender and the scent comes with the line of work. I roll down my window and a fresh breeze hits me immediately, almost like it was waiting for me, to give me something good to breathe. The air outside is cold and dewy, making each breath I take crisp and sharp. The leaves whisper and rustle as I step out of my car.

The rocks underneath my black leather combat boots crunch and click against each other with each of my steps. I slip onto my hood, the cold car metal sends goose bumps up my legs and thighs and to the very base of my neck. I should have worn pants, it was colder than I’d thought it’d be. Back when Elliott was still alive I felt warm all the time. Now, though, it’s as if I’m constantly submerged in ice water. I hug my arms and rub them quickly to try and create some warmth, but to no avail. My skin is smooth and soft though so I caress them a bit longer. I lay back and the trees on either side of me seem to lean in to shield me from the world. Up above me they reach for each other, but their limbs don’t quite get there yet. Between the distance of their branches and lush green leaves I can see the blue-black sky. Not as many stars as before, but I can see three twinkling and one not twinkling at all. I figure if people do become stars like they say than that must be Elliott because he was always the type of guy that was too quiet and subdued to get noticed. Twinkling would be too gaudy for him. I look at Elliott in the sky and Elliott looks at me on earth. Somehow it feels right. He was always something of a celestial being anyway.

It’s 2:27 in the morning. Ever so randomly you hear the swoosh of a car rushing down the wet highway, and see a small wave erupting from underneath their fast tires. The new lamp posts shine a yellow light on the gravel, making the water on it glisten. I sigh and see my breath before me in a lavender haze. A drop of water that had been clinging to a leaf above me falls on my forehead with a plop. It splits in two and rolls down my nose and across my cheek. It’s cold and I get a rush of goose bumps again. I rub the water away with my fist, pressing hard against my face so that I can feel the bone underneath the skin. I climb back into my car and after a moments hesitation turn the engine on.

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