Speak

The driver’s side door of the green Ford Explorer slammed shut.  She knew I was furious. As I started the engine and gazed over to her, I began my rant. This was old hat to her; she knew what I was about and what I needed.  Tonight, she didn’t fight back. She listened. It was both peaceful and therapeutic. I felt like now was the only opportunity I’ll ever have to lay it all on the line.

So I did.

I told her of the sleepless nights, the pain that it brought me to know that I was losing her emotionally. She said nothing. She just continued to be fixated on the open road ahead of us. I chuckled to myself; I should’ve known that she couldn’t respond to the truth I was speaking. She never did. She’d just try to change the subject, hoping to throw my thought process off of her trail.

Not this time.

Nothing would come between me and what I had to say tonight. I refuse for that to happen. I continued on, letting her into my mind little by little. I explained why I feel the way I do. No response. My blood began to boil, she knew it pissed me off to blatantly ignore me, but what could I do? I lit a cigarette and the smoke cloud channeled across the interior.

I inhaled deeply.

Rage overcame me and I pounded on the steering wheel.  No reaction from the passenger.  Tears trickled down my face. If this didn’t work nothing would. I expressed what she meant to me, how a good portion of my life was in dedication to her. As we drove down the highway, I was swept away by the beauty of the trees surrounding us. I pulled over and removed the key from the ignition. I turned to her, and admired her in her silence.

So very beautiful.

Her shoulder length golden hair would prove to infect my thoughts for the foreseeable future. It didn’t have to come to this. I tossed my cigarette out of the window that was slightly cracked open. Watching the butt burn away, I knew that I had to say this.

I loved you.

Why did you make me do this? I didn’t want to. Now we both have to suffer the consequences. Actually, that’s not entirely true. You see, I have to live with this. Yours, on the other hand, is over with. There’s nothing I could say or do to make you speak to me. I’m an afterthought, but at least I was your last.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out of the vehicle. Walking over to her, I pulled the door open and kissed her forehead. I carried her 2 miles inward to the woods but had to venture back to get the cinder blocks that I planned to use to send her to final resting place.

She deserved better.

Desperate times call for desperate measures as they say, and this was one of the times that the cliché rang true.