With the radio blaring she stops at a red light. I watch her, she sticks the tip of her thumb in her mouth between her teeth as she bobs along to the music as if she was at her own personal concert. She pulls her thumb out and lip-synchs along. In this moment life is perfect. For the first time in eight months she's not consumed in grief. The light changes and she steps on the gas, tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. She turns the knob allowing the volume to grow. How I missed this. I missed all our road trip sing alongs. She starts humming along to her favourite song as it blasts throughout the speakers in the car, a smile glued to her beautiful face. I think about singing along as well. This reminds me of the time we drove through the night to her parents place three years ago. We almost ran out of gas and we got lost down one of the country back roads, it was my fault. We had no radio only the beats from the little rocks and pebbles hitting the side of the car. I remember how mad she was with me.
"All you had to do was ask for directions," she exasperated. I could tell she was trying really hard not to laugh about how right she was, yet again, like she always was. Even though it was dark both outside and in the car I couldn't help but admire how beautiful she was, even when angry; the way she would always bite her lip to hold back anything hurtful always put me in awe. She wouldn't look at me, so I just stared at her freckles. The moonlight created wonderful blue hues in the contours of her face, and I found it hard to focus on the road that night. It was one of the few times I wanted to focus on only her. I'd do anything to get that night back, anything.
I didn't know what to say to her then and I still don't now. A new song has started, and I watch her head bob along to the beat. She fiddles with her seat belt. I know she always hated the way it dug into her collarbone. I bet she's thinking about taking it off like she always does. I miss our little arguments about stuff like that; whose turn is it to buy toilet paper, who left the cap to the toothpaste off? I watch her undo the buckle, predictable. She turns on her turn signal light as she lip-synchs along to yet another song. Where are we going? I watch as we drive around a corner heading for the highway. "DING!" she gets a text message and quickly glances at it.
TOM:
I can't wait for our date tonight.
Um, who's Tom? She's never talked about a Tom before. Is Tom the replacement? Should I talk to her? We turn onto the highway as a song about heartbreak comes on and she skips it. I know she misses our road trips too; I can see it on her face. I look around the mostly empty car. It has just her in it. Should I say something? Should I let her know I'm here and that we can be together again? Tom could never love her like I do. Tom would never care about her like I do. Who does Tom think he is? She is mine, or- She was mine. I wait for a quiet moment in between songs, "Clara!" I yell. Her head spins around in shock, looking all over the car. She heard me! She heard-
The only beat left is that of the scented tree that hangs from the mirror tapping against the windshield in a rhythmic memory of what once was. Most of the world seems silent. The car is upside down at a stop, much like I predicted. It resembles one of those twisted pretzels we used to get at the fair. I remember one hot day we spent there. She was so determined to try every treat. I was more focused on the rides; I should have been focused on her. The weather was perfect that day and I remember the breeze blowing through her hair, as she sang along to a song blaring from one of the nearby rides. She loved to sing, and I loved to listen. She's not singing now. There is no lip-synching, no bobbing to the music, no movement, no anything. She looks so peaceful just lying there, feet away from the car face down on the asphalt. She went through the windshield as easily as a hot knife cuts through warm butter.
The other car is in the ditch. An older lady opens the door and slides out. "Are you okay?" She yells. Clara cannot answer, not anymore, not ever; she always gets distracted when driving, it was one of her major flaws, along with not wearing her seatbelt. This reminds me of another time eight months ago, the last time I saw her when I was alive, I got sick and our lives were torn apart making her leave. I know I'll see her again and we can be together like we are meant to; but she will never see Tom, I mean, would he ever do something like this for the woman he loves?
