Painted a murky green.

His prize possession.

Inside, leather interior,

where the seats grew discolored from use.

In the center of the seats, She lays,

Amongst the stories of all the people who've sat there before.

She knows the trucks past because she’s apart of it.

1960, his grandfather first got the truck, after working doubles at the factory to pay for it, in cash.

1964, when his grandfather first took out his grandmother in the truck, she was his favorite waitress at the diner, he proposed after 2 weeks.

1976, his father is born, his grandma sees his grandfather cry for the first time. 

1998, his grandfather passes the truck onto his father, he meets his mother, they take the truck around the east coast, they got married in the following year. 

2001, he is born and his mother dies as he enters the world, he was the reason she passed. his father blames him.

2017, his dad passes the truck onto him, his only son. It's what his mother would've wanted.

March 15th, 2019, he takes out a girl he's been on two dates with, and sexually assaulted her on the passenger side of the truck. 

She is the victim. 

The girl he got to swoon and gloat about him, all because of the 1959 chevy pickup truck.

The only comfort she can feel in those moments is the reassuring grasp of the cushions beneath her.

She can hear the roaring mechanics of the car as he presses the gas and went too fast. 

She can hear the laughter and the jukeboxes of his grandparents' love.

She can hear the whispers of the leather as her skin rubs against it.

She speaks no words,

Instead, she speaks through the handprints on the windows, and across the windshield.

She speaks through the bite marks on his skin.

She speaks through the bruises across her collar bones.

She speaks in the crescent moon shapes in her palms from clenching her fists too hard. 

She speaks through the doubts in her head saying “you did this to yourself.”

But before he can take all she has left to give,

she mumbles “My mom needs me home.”

he drives, belt unbuckled, pants around his thighs. 

On the way home she has an urge to address it, but ultimately decides to stay silent.

He scrapes her driveway as he pulled in to drop her off,

maybe this is because he tends to go faster than most guys she's met before. 

he leaves her on the top of the driveway, 

As the beams of his headlights flash onto her face and her body, 

Illuminating all the imperfections and scars he left her. She cries. 

Her pain roles down her cheeks, and into the valleys of her lips.

She finds comfort in the salt of her tears,

they mask the taste of his breath, still, and forever, lingering in her mouth.

The lights eclipse, leaving her at the top.

He took her trust and drove away with it, shattered in the passenger seat.

She was only sixteen then. Sweet sixteen has never been more bitter,

but to him, it looked sweet enough to take. She only wishes he'd left some sweetness left for her.

As the years pass, and the seats reak of tears and laughter,

She remains, In self dug graves in the passenger seat of the truck; 

The impressions of her nails peeled up from the leather and buried with dirt and dust. 

No amount of scraping, can she remove the leather from beneath her nails.