a stranger driving

I read something this week written by another 

blogger that compared anorexia to riding in a car.

cliche as it may sound, 

it made more sense than anything else I thought all week.

and so, I wrote a story.

Someone asked me to go for a drive in their car.
an intriguing , yet strange car
I'd always seen on the road but never been in.
I was curious, It seemed like such an appealing interior.

Momma told me to never get in the car with a stranger.
And I had listened my whole life up until this day.
Always stayed away from trouble and knew exactly what to say "no" to.
Never said yes to drugs and never drank a day in my life.
Stayed away from reckless boys and put on my best behavior at school.

But I'm a big girl now, I can at least decide who I ride with.
where I go and what car we take.
But I can only determine
           where we go
                  how fast we go
         and how safe we get there
                       if I'm the one driving.


And the driver of the pretty car didn't ask me 
if I wanted to drive.
They just said, "get in."
And I did.


And so here I am in the recovery room bed.
I can't even remember if it was fun at first
if I enjoyed the ride at all.
That's the thing about fear
and about being in car accidents
they both have the ability to make you forget
to make you lose all your memory.
The terror of the terror just erases everything.
Or maybe I even hit my head that hard. I don't really know.


I wonder what I forgot.
All I have now is
the aftermath
the consequences to live with.

The sling on my arm, the stitches in my head
the bruises on my hips.
I don't even know if the driver of the car is okay,
if they lived.
I don't really know if I care.

The last thing I remember is them asking me to get in,
and I did. 

More often than not, car crashes are out of your control
especially when you were the one in the passenger seat.
Maybe the driver was distracted,
maybe they didn't have your best interest in mind,
maybe the breaks had a malfunction
maybe some other car didn't see you
and came speeding through the red light at full force.


It was out of your control
yet you're the one paying.
but you did say yes to getting in the car, 
you do remember that, yes you do. 


The rest, I guess I will have to figure out.
The doctor said it will take time.
I don't know if I'll be the same person I was before,
I can't remember who she was.
I can't promise my friends that they will like the new girl
who has been given a second chance.
I can't promise myself I will ever know who I was.
But I do remember saying yes to that car ride,
or I wouldn't be sitting here now.


I'll call this my first lesson in (my new) life,
before I even know my name:
Whatever the cost, don't get in that car again.
You remember what it looks like. 
You can't trust the driver, whoever it was.
You do know that. 


I looked up, "Hey Sweet Pea, how are you feeling?"
the tearful face of a woman that looks like she knows me
more than I know myself right now.
Maybe she knows my name.
I bet she does.


And then another: "OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALRIGHT!!!!!"
I guess that is… a friend?
A best friend maybe?
I hate to tell her, but I don't know,
I hate to wonder what part of me she remembers and I don't.


"Holy cow you look worse than my freshman yearbook picture"
and she exploded into a fit of hysterical, emotional laughter
I guess that was funny,
I guess we had known each other for that long.
I guess if I remembered, I would laugh. and so I did. 
I laughed with my friend. I don't know what I was laughing at
but it felt good to laugh.
I do know that.


"Who were you with when it happened? Are they okay? Who was driving?"
Questions. questions.
I don't know who I was with and I don't know if they are okay.
Male, female… I don't know.
But I do know I wasn't driving,
I don't know who was.
I didn't choose this accident,
I didn't choose to crash,
I didn't once steer the wheel or press the accelerator to the floor,
I just opened the passenger door
and I got in.


I don't remember why
and now I have to relearn everything I knew.
If only I had not opened that door.
Maybe someday, this will all be a memory.
only a memory.
until then...


a man enters, "There's my CHLO BUG!!!!!!!"


Oh, well,
They must call me Chlo Bug.
we will start there.