The door is open. Take a ride in my passenger seat, won’t you? You look a little unsure. Well, I am a woman; to make matters a little more terrifying, my car is manual. Lastly, I am not known for my ability to multitask. Every commuter can now nod in simultaneous agreement because we are all guilty of attempting to perform unnecessary tasks while our eyes and hands wander from their safe places. Actually, i am not known for my ability to accomplish any task which involves coordination. So your reluctancy is understood.
Instead, allow me to paint a picture for you. Everyone loves pictures.
She was the backseat passenger, crammed into a tiny white ford that looked as if it were unable to seat even one person comfortably.
She gazed off. Two men sat in the front gabbing about what I can only imagine to be nauseatingly lifeless topics of little importance. But not her. She wasn’t really there. In her mind, she wasn’t a lonely passenger whose thoughts were not asked for. Not cared about. Her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere away from the heat. The mindless chatter. The feeling of not belonging. Maybe close to the water. But maybe I only assume so because that is where my own mind wanders a majority of the time.
Her posture echoed a sadness and a freedom all in the same; an anguishing familiarity that made me squirm uncomfortably in my seat
After a few moments longer, I sped around and didn’t look back. Too much of that isn’t good for a person, you know?