"Grip"

Hot, sticky words poured out of my throat like nothing else. My fingers clutched so tightly to the leather seat, I thought it would rip open. Springs and wires would burst out and entangle me, until I became part of the Benz. I would drive the highways forever more, until my bearings were rusted and holes punched through my fenders from the cancer of time. But, I was done talking. Silence hung between us like a sheet soaked with stale summer sweat.

On the other side of my window, the world blazed by. Farther away, a scenic array of life caught in slow-motion. A man in his sun-bleached yard, tipped into the ancient maw of his truck. A horse staring into space, tail absently swishing. Squares of existence. A plane ride made people seem even more unnecessary. Swirls of fields, Monopoly-sized houses, dark veins of rivers. Above all, the patient mashed-potatoes layer of clouds. Over those, the sun.

It didn’t matter where we were going. Whether I made an effort to be civilized. One of us was gone. He hadn’t seen the itchy, uncomfortable dress I was wearing and neither would she. She wouldn’t feel the fabric with vibrant colors against her skin.

My tears were hot, like they’d been boiling within, waiting for the right time to sneak out. They cooled on my cheeks from the air conditioning whirring from the vents. I sniffled, annoyed that I couldn’t save them for when I got there. Maybe those tears wouldn’t be so raw, so real.

But I had plenty. The funeral was tomorrow.