Dumb Girl

After the party Friday night, I arranged a ride home with a couple returning to West Chester, though the driver was obviously somewhat intoxicated. Being me, it was a scary mix of two fears already intimidating on their own: cars and alcohol. Calling my mom, I walked down to the corner to get the street address. She didn't pick up. Having guests in the morning and with the expectation of snow, I accepted the ride home. I will never tell my mom or dad. The route home was essentially 95 to 202. High speeds, late night, getting over a recent snow. There wasn't a lot of swerving, but not a lot of consistency in the lanes, either. I thought of when I'd started driving; I'd draft texts of love, hoping, in the event of the worst, my friends and family would be left with last words. I began to draft with an unnecessary sense of finality. I thought of what I could leave in 160 characters. Finished, I sang to the too-loud music. If anything, going out singing wouldn't have been so bad. "Dogs" by Pink Floyd was on coming out of an exit. We nearly hit a corner support of the ramp before jerking back into the lane. The girl in the passenger seat looked back at me with relieved "woah" eyes.

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I need to reexamine my concept of a relationship.