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Drive Me Through Life
Hot tears trickled down my cheeks as I watched them take her away. Her round eyes, tired and worn out, had no light left in them. Her skin was peeling like she had sat for hours under the sun, the skin that had once shone with the sunlight. Her mouth was cut with scars, frozen in a sheepish smile. “It’s okay,” she spoke in my head, in the soft voice that had usually spoken to me with comfort. But this was not comforting.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as the truck began to drive away. I watched her get smaller and smaller before my eyes. Memories flashed through my mind; the two of us by the bay, me spilling my guts and tears out to her as she listened patiently, the soft vibrating of her voice as she calmed me down—rushing to fill my mind as if they would disappear with her.
Our time had been short—I could remember the day we met as if it was yesterday. I had walked by all the others, lined up like glossy pairs of high heels in a shoe store. Their fresh skin glittered and their eyes shone flirtatiously. “Pick me, pick me!” they seemed to call out. But I wasn’t listening—fake beauty has never been my type. None of them caught my eye—their glossy skin blended before my eyes like a blurry picture.
It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, but the short, chubby, matte, fawn-skinned, one with innocent circle shaped eyes had brought focus into the picture. She was in the ‘used’ section, and her worn out eyes sympathized with my own issues. She had been dumped, used, and destroyed just like I had been. Her thin, chapped lips had smiled at me sadly, and she seemed to say, “I guess we have to learn to expect the unexpected, huh?”
She was mine. I knew it from the moment I first saw her.
My friends and family had given me funny looks when I first brought her to them. “Her?” they laughed at me. “I didn’t think your taste was that bad?”
“Well,” I had defensively patted her head. “You can’t really critique love at first sight.”
But it was more than just inner beauty to me. I feel in love with her tattered skin, the way its chocolate-colored coating had glistened with the rays of the sun. I fell in love with her round eyes, which had always gazed lovingly into mine. I fell in love with the dark scratch above her mouth, the one that traced the pain from her past experiences and showed me how related we really were. She was beautiful.
I remember loosing my job. I remember seeing my ex-girlfriend with another man. I remember being knee deep in debt. But my memory doesn’t go into detail. It cuts to the scene when I ran to her and we strolled by Prince Bay as I went through every knot, every tangle, and every detail. Her soft voice had hummed back to me, which was enough to sort through every problem. She embraced a protective shelter around me, and I felt warm and safe under her roof. I’d look into the mirrors that she showed me, and they reflected a different man—one with less misfortune, less misery. I would return home with a soft sort of feeling, as if I had been wrapped under my covers listening to music with a warm cup of tea.
Her series of sicknesses had started a few months before the truck came to take her away. Her voice began to grow hoarse and she would have huge coughing fits before we were about to leave somewhere. She got clumsier and got into a few mild accidents, leaving scars and scratch marks on her beautiful face. She would move slower and cause a lot of people to flip their fingers and shake their fists.
“Don’t worry about it,” I’d tell her. “Its not your fault that you’re getting tired and older.” But despite my words, I had a tree of worries growing inside me; all from the same root—will she live longer?
I spent over $1000 on her healthcare. Doctors would prescribe medicine, but they wouldn’t ease her pain forever. They would assure me that she would be okay, but the more I took her to the clinic, the more doubtful their responses would grow. I’d spend more time with her at home, telling her I loved her and making sure she got enough rest. I lost a lot of sleep worrying about her, and there were times I would wake up at night just to see if she was okay. I couldn’t bring myself to eat anymore, and I lost a lot of weight. “I’ll be okay,” She flashed a shaky smile at me one night. “Don’t kill yourself worrying about me. I love you very much…. I think you’re a great man.”
I kissed her head and bid her goodnight, and despite her words I spent another night sleepless with worries. And when I woke up the next morning, she wouldn’t wake up.
She drove me out of my problems, and took me far away from them. She showed me the reflection of a better man in her rearview mirrors. She sheltered me under her roof of love.
I loved my Honda.