Before I Get Rid of My Car, We Go For a Drive
After Shira Erlichman
Get in, Virginia Woolf. I’m picking the music. We’ll let the souls in our feet guide us, softly accelerate. My only chance at happy memories, get in. I’m sorry I let you pass by year after year. Find me when I’m old enough to start looking back. Undeveloped film, scraps of observed paper, what are you waiting for, get in. All I ask is you warn me before I need to make a left turn. I get nervous sometimes moving this quickly. This frame is vintage, cherish, get in. Polly’s in the back with penny candy and elegant gray. Get in, snow on Mount Washington. Before and after and whatever was in between, get in. I’m waiting for you. I won’t leave without you. Unreliable narrator, get in. Self-delusion, defense mechanism, my how strong your heart beats, get in. Stop waiting for someone to give you permission, this is an open invitation, I am driving while you read the navigation—it’s always about control. Self control, birth control, lose control, get in. My unfertilized eggs take up too much space. Lunar phase wait and tell me what to do. The deck won’t tell you what you don’t already know, Patrick reminded me of this, get in. I made a playlist for the mood you’ll be in next week when it all changes. All your favorites. Yuri Gagarin, rain boots left behind, get in. Pop a fat bird right into my mouth, let the gentle softness spread; a salad of the last difficult spring’s magnolia petals, yum yum still pink, just a little crunch. Get in. There’s enough room even with Cecilia’s perfect wedding dress and the draft of the speech I’m trying to uncatch from my throat before October. Get in, Octobers. The last was good, considering. The next will be too, considering. Considering, ruminating, overthinking, sweating, overdrinking, get in. Bring your favorite poems and read them all out loud to me and I will cry as the sun rises in your voice. A gentle disruption. Get in, 1.8 aperture for the moon. I’ve been waiting for this, I’ve been hoping for this, I’ll miss this one day, get in. When Harry Met Sally and how Nora Ephron knew who Deep Throat was and no one believed her. No one believed her, get in. If I’m more honest with myself then I can be more honest with you even when all that comes out of my open mouth is a mirror. Where are my glasses? Get in, anyone who can find them. And hurry. I’m losing my vision so I don’t like to drive at night. In fact I prefer the passenger seat any day but, like I said, it’s about control. I’m putting on Cocteau Twins, surprise surprise, and we will all make up our own lyrics. Glossolalia. I want to hear you sing, get in. Krista, bring that box of paint you live in. I’m so glad you’re here, get in. The picture of my parents on their wedding day and how it’s only sad because I know how it ends, get in. The pictures from London I haven’t had developed yet and how it’s only sad because I know how it ends, get in. Not knowing how it ends and pressing the shutter anyway because without hope in the dark we are not really living. Molly Brodak, with the only truth, get in and thank you and I’m sorry. Sorrow for the things you cannot change and a spark for the things you can. I have to stop for gas first. I have a confession to make. Does anyone need anything? I will give you what I can. Looking through crystal windows to make sense of it all, get in. I’m driving.
Jordan Cameron is a New Englander living in Philadelphia. She is a photographer and writer, exploring and expanding perception. Her work has been featured in Ghost City Review. You can find her on instagram and twitter at jordanofjune and on any given night walking around with a camera at sunset.