I found myself driving through a town you’ve most likely had the chance to drive through and hoped you had enough gas. There’s a small Main St that can be easily distinguished by a faded white sign with pasture green letters or by the abandoned Texaco at the only working light. I say this with my tongue firmly in the side of my tobacco stained cheek, this was a beautiful town. I crossed the red light without making eye contact with the woman sitting outside Patty’s Diner. She wore an apron that may have never been washed due to laziness or aesthetic appeal for the joint. Down two more was a shoe shop that specializes in size for all and drugs, no doubt.

Main street ran parallel to the train tracks built back when Indians weren’t a slur but an opportunity for genocide. I’d tell you about the other sun faded businesses lining that empty street, but I doubt I could come up with much to describe a Liquor Store next to a Post Office. One was certainly used more than the other around here. Towards the end of the street I rounded a tight bend and opened up to fencing covered in barbs and rust. The fence runs astray for a while but doesn’t hide the abandoned GE plant that sits back and collects memories and tax write offs. They left town in ‘93 with everyone’s punch card and pension because some foreign man came knocking for Value-Stream, business-jargon painted lies.

The reason for my quick stint here was not one I’m proud of, but moments of clarity rarely come when you have a comfy seat. As with most American, mix bred, teenage-wasteland-esc lives, mine involved a girl and a bottle of whiskey. Only one of which steadily accompanied me on my voyage. Sails taught into an October wind, I made my way down the only hill in town. There’s a sandy lot half empty with abandoned cars at the bottom, so I parked and thumbed a Marlboro Red. She’d be along any time now as long as it fits her schedule, so I leaned the seat back just a bit and closed my eyes.

Squinting into the sun through my open window, I muttered to myself. What would she wear today? Maybe jeans and that rock and roll tee shirt she knows I’ll recognize as a last ditch effort to stir my memory. There was a slight chill in the air, so a jacket wasn’t out of the question. There’s a little grey one I once slipped a caramel into before she went to work one day. She never saw it and washed the damn thing that night. It became one of our better fights I’d say. Secretly, I hoped that she would wear just a little makeup. I always loved when she wore just enough to notice if the dimples weren’t too distracting. Maybe too much to ask at this point, because a trip down memory lane usually ends in just that.

With a puff of smoke and a quick kiss from my bottle, I turned on the radio, half hoping to hear some old song we once danced to. I settled for a lost soul song from a band I pretended to like. We used to go to soul shows, so I guess it was fitting. She loved music almost as much as I loved drinking to the music. We’d go and stake out at some bar, talk about the friends who had kids too early and couldn’t come. We’d laugh about the faults of others while our own simply sat in the empty bar stools next to us. Nothing white wine and tequila couldn’t fix. This was fine until halfway through some Tuesday night, almost-famous’ set, I punched a guy for looking at her. At least I thought he was looking at her, but at a certain point, alcohol sees what it wants. She cried on our couch a lot that night.

I could hear her mom’s Sierra hum up behind me and crunch the gravel, and hopefully a nail. I always hated that damn minivan almost as much as I hated her mother, but that’s too cliché for this story. She left the car running and jumped out while I took a drag and turned down the radio a bit. Why I kept it on in the first place, I can’t tell you, but it did seem to make the whole scene more dramatic.

I could see she had colored her hair a bit, but had it up in a ponytail to make sure I knew she didn’t care. Without a word she rounded the car and put her hand on the top of the door. Until they happen, most moments that stick with you forever pass quickly and subtly. They linger just enough for you to question, but never long enough make sure the polaroid is clear. She didn’t say much to me. The few words spoken were between the tears that I’ll keep to myself. I know she saw the smoke, the bottle and the sadness on my shoulders. I enjoyed a brief last look at the green eyes that changed my life. The October wind was kind enough to pull in her perfume for a final drag. I tried to smile, but it got caught in the middle of my throat so I let it pass.

She handed me the ring, swore she was sorry, and left me sitting alone in that abandoned parking lot I was telling you about.

Jenny wore jeans and one of his tee shirts.

D.K.