Backseat

Sitting in the backseat of this car with the duct tape on the seats. Look back. Look over your shoulder. See my face. See what you've done. My bruises aren't black but they are still there. My cuts aren't big, but they are deeper than you'll know. I'll lean and spit out the window. I'll pull the fingernails out of my hair, and wash the dirt from off my knees with saliva from my mouth. I'll pull up my tattered socks and kick the back of your seat with my boots. I will scream at the top of my lungs with my eyes closed. I will make faces in the rear view mirror. That's right, look back at how childish I am. I will cover your eyes while you are changing lanes. no, I don't care if we crash. Yes, I am trying to get us killed. push me back hard against the springs of the seat. leave a mark in my chest from your hand. smack me around a bit. threaten to pull this car over till I behave. Better yet, threaten to turn this car around and go home. Threaten to leave me on the side of the road holding my knapsack with the broken zipper, to hitchhike home with some gnarly biker. I'd love to see you drive away. I'd love to call your bluff. You'll just circle the block and pick me up again. You always pick me up again. My skin tingles. I pinch you so that we match. You tell me to calm the fuck down. Give it a rest. I tell you to use your indoor voice. we do this for the entire ride. We never run out of gas, you never let me out of the car, and I've never stopped enjoying the view from the backseat.

As each curve passes, I glance out the window. I smile because I know I am safe in your car. Each passing tree makes me anxious. Stop the car. Slow down. It's all going past to fast. To quickly. I want to feel the grass. I want to climb all of these trees. We aren't growing up any faster by rushing, I am not getting less restless having to sit still. Slow down. If you don't stop, I'll jump out. I am kicking your seat again. Hit the brake. The brake. I need a break. I need some air. Would it kill you to crack a fucking window? It's not that I don't love you. It's not that I don't want to get to where we are going; I just want to lie in the grass. I want to pick up a hitchhiker. Lets talk to someone. Maybe we should ask directions. I don't feel like being lost, because lost with you is still lost, even if I like the company. I am not a little housewife. Maybe you could just let me stretch my legs?

Sometimes we need to forge our own patch. I have jerked the steering wheel from your steady hands far to many times. Maybe we should pull over. I can drive. I know I can. Stop glaring at me, I'm not saying your driving is bad... maybe we need a change. Maybe we need something new. Lets turn there. That road looks nice. That one too. Why aren't you turning off the highway? So help me I'll jump. If you ignore me I'll jump. You'll miss me when I'm gone. You'll cry at my funeral. I'm so bored here. This backseat, with me pulling up the duct tape. Don't we have any markers? I want to draw. Here. That is our house. I drew it blue. That is our dog, and this is our tree. I drew it orange, because we bought it in the fall. There's you. You are happy. There's me... floating face down in the bathtub.