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kss
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I left for home,
my weekend visit over.
As it goes with road trips,
returning held the same tasks as going;
fuel stops and music changes
and negotiation of roads.
Thoughts, like the route,
were reversed,
the giddy anticipation of arrival gone,
the wonder over unknown plans replaced with a sober reviewing of deeds
and a gathering of the scattered routines of home.
My friends smiled and waved,
a last moment of novelty
before I disappeared up the street,
rolling back to my life,
leaving them to theirs.
It had been a calming, easy time,
and I was not upset to be going home.
My friend and I share a great bond,
and catching up made me feel whole
and happy to be alive.
With a steady, self aware peace,
I pointed the car south,
enjoying the day
and the tunes
and the open road.
To pass time,
I had a long earnest talk
with the empty passenger seat.
“You're empty" I pointed out.
The seat remained silent and still,
obviously self-conscious.
I didn't mean to put it on the spot,
and quickly explained that
problem of being void of co-pilot
was my fault, not the seat's.
I reflected on this,
the past and future reasons,
and wondered if that seat
would remain empty for long?
Then, to pass the time,
I talked to you, the co-pilot,
hoping that pretending someone was there
might make the seat feel more at ease.
Maybe it could imagine
your weight,
your warmth,
the shifting in your seatbelt
and fiddling with the power windows.
As I spoke, I reviewed the many adventures that you could have shared,
the places where you
could have filled a void.
There was spaces to fill in
during the driving;
music to sing along with,
abstract theories to invent and debate,
windows to wash and junk food to buy.
While visiting, there were many places extra hands or thoughts were needed.
You could have pitched in when we drank double redbull mandarin cocktails,
helped with the attempts to blend
in with the college bar crowds.
It might have been 4 for sushi
instead of 3,
you supporting my third wheel
providing a wink across the table,
or shared giggle
while my friend and her boy bickered.
I would hope, in the quiet times,
we could have snuck in some love making,
holding each other hushed
as we slept on the living room floor,
secure in the thought that
the people with bedrooms
were doing the same.
In the hours while we drove,
I'd ask you to feed me
interesting thoughts or snacks,
You could take a turn at the wheel, zipping the tiny car across the highway,
herding trailers that lingered
in the slow lanes, or taunting
the family stuffed wagons
as we passed in a blur.
After this telling, I reflected.
The solitude was quiet,
filled with thought, the empty seat
apparently having nothing to add to my fantasy of companionship.
Then, I looked right,
to the place you were not,
and found myself
not realizing
how dear you and become to me,
and not feeling
our closeness grow
through the laughs and simple joys
that don’t come from not
sharing friends.
I did not feel
glad for the company,
did not see
your still eyes watch the hypnotic
passing of lines and fences and fields,
and I did not
wonder what you were thinking, as we
flew across the ground, back to
the life we are not weaving together.
"Who are you?", I asked the empty seat. It could say nothing in reply,
for it truly had no idea.
It just stared straight ahead,
at the endless flat highway,
sameness and silence flowing past.
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021022
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