i. damp pavement soaks through my four year-old gym shoes– they graduated before I did. while the droplets precipitate from whatever cumulus nimbus reigns across the atmosphere, my keys cling & clank in my calloused palm. every sore muscle, cracked knuckle, rotting atom aches inside the fabrics of my body, no part was spared. a year prior the sweat had tasted sweet, like it was all worth it; now it is sour & salty.
ii. recline in my 2012 ruby red volkswagen jetta that was my mom’s before it was mine & it was God knows who else’s before hers. nylon-polyester muffin stained seats brush my athletic shorts as my forehead crashes against the steering wheel. the door isn’t even shut. I’ll open my phone to the videos from the “good ole days” when I wasn’t crying in my car, fuck, when did I start crying?
iii. the last remnant of workout buddies & evening escapades is the decomposing taco bell bag from our post-gains lift from who knows when. at least from when we still considered ourselves real friends but after you failed to invite me to your birthday party. when you texted me & asked if I wanted to go (because your first choice couldn’t) joyous sobs escaped my lips, I was so desperate to be your number one. well who cares now? all that raced through my mind was what I could do to relive what was basically choked, shot, & buried now. I had just the thing.
iv. I speed down the road like I am transporting a woman in labor to the emergency room but I am just swerving into taco bell as if my heart is approaching failure (because it basically is) & they can save me or save us or save something good that is no longer here. so in the drive through lane I ask the poor worker, who had the misfortune of taking my order that day, to give me the largest size they offer of a baja blast, she says mhmm in that chipper tone people use when everything is just serendipity in their lives. envious & on the verge of tears (again) I order nacho fries because I know that was your go-to. the ordering speaker (or whatever it’s called) statics as she replies back that they’ve been discontinued (again).
v. now my voice is cracking & I say it’s fine (it’s not) & as I pull up to the payment window, I hop the curb. great. everything is worse (again) because you always used to say I was going to be a bad driver & I am a bad driver & you always used to have nacho fries & now they are gone (again) & you, yes you taco bell are more toxic than she ever was because your nacho fries are more on-again off-again inconsistent than our friendship was; at least her bitchy backstabbing moves were calculated & backhanded with some sort of plausible deniability. you just thrive off of making people like me miserable, don’t you? why are you so incapable of committing to the people who care for you?
why can I not just eat your nacho fries in my car anymore like we used to?