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Chapter 38 (v2)
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finally, literature for
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the flashback

Everyone at work wondered
why she looked so down that day,
and occasionally someone would ask her.
What’s the matter? And she’d
say it was just a bad day.
And she went through the
motions, she did her work, she
ate her lunch, even though the lettuce
tasted bad, and then she had to
run an errand for the boss.
And she was in her car, it
was snowing, but not the pretty
kind of snow, not the kind you expect to see
on Christmas day. It was like the
snow was already dirty and gray
before it hit the ground.
And she was driving, and she
didn’t even realize she was going under the
speed limit. She was in a daze, lost, not
because of depression, but because
there was noting she cared
to think about. And so she drove.
And she dropped off the crate of
flyers and the mailing list for the boss,
and she drove back, but the whole way
she was thinking that she
should drive slower, so she wouldn’t
be back at work so fast. And so she
drove slowly, coasting now, watching the
dirty snow touch her windshield.
And she looked over to her
left, and there was an old man, lowering
his car from the jack it was on. A flat
tire. And then she had a flashback.
And it was no longer winter, and
she was no longer driving -
she was outside, while he was trying
to fix the flat on his rusty white car.
They were driving back from a park, it
was summer in Monticello, it must have been
ninety degrees, and there
she was, sitting on a dirty beige carpet
scrap from the floor of the car. She had
taken the scrap and moved off the dirt
road, about ten feet into
the field. And she just sat there,
watching him, shirtless, fixing the car
so they could drive home. And she
wanted to remember it, just like that.
Then the light turned green,
she followed the procession of cars
through the graying snowflakes. And
she began to forget it was a bad day, and
she didn’t mind her daze.

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