Riding In Cars

I wish sometimes that life didn’t hurt this much.  I wish every decision could be flawless and swift, filled with confidence and courageousness.  Tears, tears and nowhere to turn.  Things are not simple.  Just when I think I have everything figured out, The Higher Power throws me another curve ball and sticks it to me in the worst way.  Why all the trials?  Why all the tribulations?  Why all the issues coming back like a flood?

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

Oh, Thoreau, how right you were.  If you only knew.  Yet all I keep seeing is my limited choices, my back against the wall and the impending dilemma.  How can I get the world to stop just long enough to get my bearings?  How can I get RWAV to understand that things are not so simple, that at its core is confusion and worry and dread?  What seems to be my life has now become what’s left of it as I struggle to analyze all that has gone wrong; all that I’ve done, and all that he has.  Yes, it’s a man-related issue.  Yes, it involves my security.  Yes, it is cliche.  The terrifying, lurking thing that has managed to weasel into a life that I had managed to hold together with some chicken-wire and glue no longer suits…have to find another way of weaving these pieces together.  I bet you’re familiar, but skeptical.  I bet you think you have it all figured out even as you read this.  You probably think that your world is as steady and constant as the sun.  But even those stars will one day burn out…and what then?!

As the car rode up the block with its hum, I realized what wasn’t in my control.  I had a look just outside the passenger window just to see a strip of buildings huddling together, people passing while walking their dogs and chatting and laughing.  They looked like I once looked: happy.  There was nothing to see.  Not for me.  They passed me as figures on a moving motion picture reel.  Not real.  I could sing to the lyrics on the radio.  I could wave my finger at will.  I just couldn’t do anything else because I’d lost something precious.  I’d just lost it like the rhythm of the music playing.  What seemed contagious, flattering, simple now grew into a monster I couldn’t control.  That monster was a beast of a lie.  A beast.

The wind picked up and whirled through my hair like a stranger.  It said, This too shall pass.  Rain came in shifts.  Rain that pelted the windshield and dropped down like tears.  I had many questions; my mind running like the hands on a clock.  I figured.  I wondered. I miss me.  I miss him now and after and now and tomorrow…

Counted the raindrops.  They were myriad; they were legion.  It was against me, it was against the car that I sat in.  It pelted me like bullets, hurt like a burn.  Riding in hot cars is like being on a spit.  There’s no returning to the life that you knew because it doesn’t fit you.

Like an awkward visitor, you go back to the womb and try to make due with a lava lamp and end table.  You try to pretend that you’re satisfied while RWAV is yelling and exhausting and hurtful and dependent on you.  The weight of her words fall heavy round your neck like a noose.  It is a noose.  You’ve called it by name now.  But how do you keep your self without hurting her, this delicate balance?  You’re laughing now, but it isn’t funny.  You’re crying from laughing and hoping that it’ll all blow over–that she’ll blow over.  You’re crying and she’s brutish with angry words all over you.  She’s needy.  How’d this begin?  Oh, yes.  It was him. (Thanks.)

The car is rolling and your wheels are tired from spinning.  You think of the simple times when it was just talk: boys and cars and love sweet love.  Life was simpler when you didn’t have to worry about those heady topics like LOVE or obligation or illness or trouble or lies, lies, lies.  The time when the biggest worry was what tape to put in the tape deck.  Mamas and Papas paid the rent and you never saw a bill–didn’t even know what one looked like. 

The heart gets stomped on and falls victim to the wheels that travel over it.  The precipice it stands (precariously) on, shifts.  Underneath it may lie an adventure or another crevasse from which no traveller returns.  Here’s hoping that its journey, although bumpy, has surprises in store which the heart could not imagine.

Wish You Were Here.


About Lisa Perez

Lisa M. Perez is a published poet, editor, copywriter, public speaker and artist. The co-creator of the first ever ArtSpace in Jersey City, member of IUOMA (International Union of Mail Artists), and administrator for an online Mail Art group, Lisa supports the arts and advocates for creativity. Her successful, Art Journal and "Notes from my Brain" series are ongoing projects that evolve with the artist. In addition to being an active blogger since 2005, Lisa scripts and edits copy for various online articles and videos. In September 2017, she was a guest-speaker and virtually chaired a YOGA Recovery meeting. In her spare time, Lisa studies, reads, and creates while maintaining a day job in a STEM field and being a full-time fur-mommy to her shih-tzu, Cher.
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