The past week and a half flew by, and all I can say is..damn.
My car died last week. Left me bra less and with an afro, along with morning breath and sandals, pushing this stupid hunk of metal across the street to avoid the street sweeper.
Have you ever tried pushing a car uphill, reverse, then parallel park?
It is the worst thing. There’s a collection of hands splattered across my hood that I refuse to wash because they make me laugh.
My mother being more compact drove while my younger brother, myself, and my ex pushed.
This is who I’m referring to when I say, “he” or “him.”
Stupid car. I stressed for days, missed school, and had to be dropped off 27 miles one way. Who else would do that? Only he would do that. Who else would make sure someone would come look at it before leaving? He would. Only him.
I feel like I had so much more to say but as the days passed by I lost most of them and ended up with these leftover feelings.