Fractures in Cars


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They don’t know him like I do.


One day he got the creative idea to “chase the sun”; I rode back-gun while he and my uncle rode shot. They had conversations about the world in scientific terms that left me wanting more. They were both patient men, gradually explaining each of my questions with poise and grace - loading me with the energy of their beautiful minds. And when it was too complicated to answer, HE the one, told them all “she’s too young to understand” and knew precisely how to distract me once again, bringing my mind back to the present - “we are here to chase the sun.” I remember my beam of energy condensed in a tiny body, wanting to decide from the back where to go, and they drove to the distance my little fingers pointed. I wanted to see that sun up close and absorb its energy like a healing sanctuary of light.


Fast forward.


He comes crying into the room, which I’d never seen him do up until this point. His face crumbles into his palms as he sits on the edge of my bed. I ask him what’s wrong. “MY FAMILY LEFT ME; I MISS MY FAMILY!” I hold him in my arms and as I rock him I let him know it’ll all be okay & to just let it out. When I tell him that I’m family too, he stops crying abruptly and hurries to leave me alone in the room. He leaves the house & drives somewhere with a bed in the backseat of his van.


Fast forward.


I’m in his car, and we’re driving to Sacramento again. It’s always 2 hours to get there no matter where we seem to start our journey. The road is endless, and we spend some time debating life, but it appears he’s on the other side. I don’t know what got to him & when the spiral happened - but I make sure to wear a smile and accommodate when he thinks I’m criticizing him, even though they’re just ideas. I want to shake him and tell him we are only ever collections of our experience, that It’s not him; it’s who he’s never talked to about the endless rhythm of complexed, layered, exchanges in dialogue, full of possibilities. Maybe I should’ve tried harder. Maybe if I explained how everything is programmed, he would’ve understood it’s not an insult to him. He’s more sensitive than he wants the world to believe. Maybe if I...


Fast forward.


We’re driving again, and this time he turns to me and lets me know “that’s you!” as Comfortably Numb is playing in his car. Somehow he knew I felt numb from it all. I listen to everything else he does, and I understand he feels deeply like me. Only, he’s on the other side, and I cannot reach him. I wanted to tell him; I have to hide everything that I am in order to be around him. In order to have him close. He, and INTP - I, an INFP. He, trying to program my mind - and I - trying to pick his.


Fast forward.


“You’re my clone!” In crossed arms, I tell him that “I am NOTHING like you.” I hate the pieces of myself that are him because I don’t want to become anything other than my moral compass, which he seems to struggle with getting back. My family see’s this. I know they thinks it’s out of nowhere. I’m crazy, and at time’s, Comfortably Numb.


Fast Forward.


He buys me a book about a kid who is more agitated than called for, for reasons following a series of unfortunate small events. “That’s you!” He proceeds to take me on a 4 hour car ride & makes me read it while he hurts my body like she did.


Rewind.