futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- fast cars and sex �Come on baby, come on. Come on baby! Yeah! You can do it. Go baby go baby go-- Ungh! Come on, come on! You�re getting there-- oh yes! Oh! Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes. OH YES!� Sam Barbour is coaxing his �car� to start. I put car in quotes because it�s just barely that. It must be at least 15 years old and half made out of rust. We are on the freeway in Cleveland where you can see the lake all iced over and spooky in the night. Blue ground lights stretch in infinite strings so the plans coming in to Hopkins land on the pavement and not the ice. The ground is cold. Even the asphalt would be cold. Terrible visions fill my mind. The three of us: San Hillary and me walking up the desolate highway in the dark with the cars scaring by and the cold creeping up through the ground, right through my thin soled shoes to freeze my toes. Why did I wear these stupid girl shoes?! I rub the dash board with my hand and say with all my heart �Come on baby just a little bit further. We love you. You can run on fumes-- Just go!� Why didn�t he just ask us for gas money in the first place? One will never know. Tonight my patience is infinite, though. I�d been hoping to sleep with Sam. He an I had a fling in high school and I�m a fan of revivals. (Even if the run is short.) Back then I couldn�t get over his curly hair. He cut it off. Now I can�t get over him. Gas money seems like such a small thing tonight. I light another lucky and hope. At last with a throaty sound like an old man coughing up phlegm the car wakes up. All the rusty bits are trembling again and we�re in business. �Not so fast this time, Sam� Say Hillary leaning into the rear view from the back seat. Fat chance. Some people live for speed. Sam's one of them. Next thing you know we�re all doing 90 running on empty. �That was a station!� I shriek as I watch the glorious safe lights of BP green fly by to my right. �It�s diesel.� �Right.� So we have to get across town to get some fuel. Something gets us talking about New Years. No one has plans yet. Sam starts talking about what he did last year. Some party. He was fucked up: two girls at once and his best friend watching-- a lie? Possibly But I�m willing to believe it. I was impressed. Even if it was a lie it was a good one and told well too. But now he�s changed. A girl friend. Teen-aged candy raver. �It�s love. It�s work.� he says. I had never heard that before. �Why work at it?� I ask. �Because I love her.� All at one I felt a whole lot more even. Humbled. I didn�t want to sleep with Sam. He�s got some kind of love that�s worth working for and I don�t think I�ve ever been that lucky. Even if she is just some crazy kid. How could I even think of touching that? It�s sick. I pushed my back into the seat and I could feel the metal frame it was made out of through the worn out foam padding. I listen to the screaming engine and felt this mixture of envy and happiness for Sam that made me wonder why I worked so hard at not loving anyone. Even when its been handed to me I push it away or spit it out. I won�t get hurt this way-- not ever. I won�t live this way either. I won�t live one little bit. No even the near death thrill of speeding too close to a truck with its horn wailing can reach me. Death isn�t so scary when you have nothing to lose. 01:05:24 - 2000-12-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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