the space above my ears.

Fourest

I want to believe it when you tell me I'm being irrational.

For the last time, I get it, I do.

I know it's not the same, I know It doesn't begin the same way as the article in the papers, I know it's different because you're a boy and I'm a girl, so therefore it must be safe.

Therefore, the trees cannot have eyes and/or hands.

I know it, I comprehend.

Roger that.

Capisce.

Whatever.

Logic doesn't turn the streetlights back on and conventional wisdom does not keep my heart beating when the engine croaks out an opera of misery before sputtering and dying.

I was paralyzed, so you locked me in the car and promised you'd throw pinecones at the window so I'd know you were safe.

You walked away and the pinecones hit the windshield just like you said they would.

Twice, every thirty seconds.

My spine twitched.

The sky is gone now and the walls and the branches are closing in, swallowing you, swallowing me, fuck you, fuck you, you said it was safe, you promised-

Another pinecone.

Sorry about that, I didn't mean it.

I do trust you, I just don't trust the broken electrical boxes.

I don't trust the loose wires either, but you know that already and we both agreed we couldn't do anything about that one.

I'm thinking about you and your light and your rock collection,

So I can taste the mangoes one more time before the fruit flies come and reduce them to goop.

Not that that's going to happen.

It's a precaution, honey, don't take it personally.

I'm thinking a little too hard and I discover that no, it's been 45 seconds since the last pinecone.

No no no, don't panic, please don't panic.

Just turn on the radio, listen to that one song.

You know it, you remember.

There's a woman and she's singing about breathing, but she forgets to breathe while she's singing and then the song ends.

It's funny and it's sad and that's why it's our favorite.

I'm listening and hiding behind the thunder in my ears.

That's alright. You're alright.

A pinecone hits the car again, thank god- only this time it lands on the roof.

I like the sound, sort of.

See, look, everything is fine.

You probably tripped over a pebble or something.

The pinecones keep coming.

42, 43, 44, plunk.

It's different now, but they don't miss a beat so I stay in my seat.

None of them hit the windshield anymore, which makes me suspicious that I may have imagined the whole thing.

I want to worry, but you said not to, so I try, I try for you.

You didn't say there would be a tempo change, but I suppose you didn't say there wouldn't be one either.

Okay, I digress.

I think you'd want me to go to sleep, so I do, and the pinecones trickle away into a makeshift lullaby.

I keep dreaming about you in the aisles of the gas station convenience store.

You've come inside to pay and you picked out a bag of pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and a carton of Camels for us to share.

The cashier rings you up and he doesn't really have a face because he's not important like we are.

Not at this part.

Your total is $45 even.

You put the sunflower seeds and cigarettes in your back pockets and exit using the entrance door.

You have two soft-drink cups full of gasoline and you smile to yourself because you know I'll tease you for it when you return.

You're walking back down the twisted road and with every step you take, I wake up a little more until it's morning and my eyes are open.

You are not in the car, and that's fine.

You're probably hiding in the trees to scare me, or emptying the cups out into the gas tank.

Full of newfound peace, I go out to search for you.

You are not on the ground.

You are not underground.

You're upside down in a tree and you might be dead.

I think I might be dead too because the car is on fire and my bones are still cold.

What happened to us?

The trees are singing, singing you away.

How long have we been here?

It comes back to me, crushing me like a freight train for the 45th time.

I see it now, oh god, I see it, you should have listened, why didn't you listen?

The trees are loose wires, and they have been since we got here.

Copper. Mostly, but some are glowing.

We couldn't see in the dark, we didn't know.

I had a feeling, though.

I am staring at you and the trees are singing but it's me who cannot breathe.

The sunflower seeds fall out of your pocket and land on the roof one by one.

42, 43, 44, plunk.