In the backseat,

Joking jovially with my brother

Rock n' roll

Thrumming in the air

Mom and Dad

In the battered front seats,

Sweetly holding hands

The acrid stench of cigarette smoke

Filtering out open car windows

A time past,

Trapped in the vestiges of childhood

A time I long to return to

Mom came to pick you up from camp and the unending ride in the backseat began. You hated riding in the car. Some people like watching the world go by through the window, or not having to concentrate on anything but the music or the conversation, but not you. You just felt invisible. As the youngest of three, with seven years between you and your brother, nine with your sister, you felt like no one ever had anything to say to you that wasn’t screamed, and in the backseat, you seemed to disappear. They didn’t even notice you enough to scream at you.

That day, your brother started to argue with Mom about picking him up late. Then, your sister yelled at him to drive himself or get a ride from a friend. He told her to mind her own business and she hit him on the head. He turned around to return the smack and Mom screamed something like ‘stop’ or ‘watch’ or ‘ohmygod.’ Really, you don’t know what she screamed. No one does. For in that brief moment that you took your eyes from the darkness beyond the window to gaze at your siblings, an 18-wheeler lost control on the other side of the road and swerved into your lane. There was nothing Mom could do. No braking, no reversing, no swerving out of the way. No last rites, no moment to say “I’m sorry for all the rotten things I’ve ever done.” In an instant, you and Mom were dead.

You were only nine. You never got to take the wheel.

I was 13 and riding in the backseat. My fourteen year old friend and his girlfriend (my other 14 year old friend) were driving to the lake to do god-knows-what and I was third wheeling like a pro. They get out and I stay in the car, reading a book. I don't know how long I read or how long I sat in the car, but when I looked up, I saw them splashing eachother and laughing. Knowing that both of these people had horrible lives and depression, it made me feel really good, knowing that they always had eachother to count on.

I was riding in the backseat

How many years had it been?

That my father drove me ’round

It was a few more years than ten

My mom was in the front seat

The ride was very quiet

The fifteen miles we traveled

Not a word; somber and silent

There were many cars in line with us

And opposite our path

Headlights lit in honor

Every car that we had passed

The motorcycle sped ahead

Letting us make way

Toward the cemetery

And a freshly dug out grave

We rounded the last corner

Before we finally entered

My heart began to pound

And still now, as I remember

I searched for something I could hold

A thought to give me peace

And uttered it aloud

From there, in the backseat

We crossed a couple cattle guards

Breaking all the silence

I looked out of the window

Wind was bending tall dead grasses

It was fall and seemed quite fitting

The harvest of a soul

With the leaves all changing colors

On the tree-lined cemetery road

Through the iron gate

We passed slowly, to a stop

I glanced toward the hearse

Parked on the hill, atop

My mouth was dry; how could I do this?

Please don’t make me go

I thought quite like a child that day

Could my dad be my hero?

He couldn’t save me though

The car still slowly creeping

So, I gathered all my strength

When we finally finished moving

I emerged, there, from the backseat

My dad reached out his hand

And led me ’cross the path

To the coffin of my husband

"I feel like a taxi driver,"

He noted, I smiled. We waited.

I spotted Abi in the distance, and when she saw us waiting she did her funny awkward run over to us. She always reminded me of a fawn, newborn when they dont really know how to use their limbs.

"Hi!" She said, breathless, clambouring into the backseat with me. She wasn't wearing contacts.

"Missed your alarm?" I asked.

She sighed, "Completely."

As we pulled away we saw Abis dad getting into his own car for work, and I could see a grin hidden behind my dads face in the rearview mirror, as he rolled down his window.

He put on a voice, and yelled, "I'VE KIDNAPPED YOUR CHILD! MWAHAHAHA"

And I think that was the moment I knew I wanted to be like him.

For years I’ve loved the view.

From my corner,

I could see all of you.

Sitting there singing, laughing,

talking

We were so in sync, always together.

I have always felt safe

Backseat, right passenger,

Where you are privy to pulse of the car.

I could concentrate on us, the coversation,

And who we would be upon reaching our

destination.

You were always at the wheel, Mom

By your side, I the chief navigator and peacekeeper, and Penny the forever child.

We rode this way for so long,

I felt so safe.

Time has passed and the roles have changed.

I drive alone now.

I remember when were together.

There were five of us eight, if you counted my cousins. All crammed in the back seat in each other’s laps or laying in the rear window of the car in a time where seat belts weren’t installed. The youngest would be in a contraption that hung over the front seat which didn’t lock. The second youngest in the passenger side lap of an adult. We would be on the way to Tuttle Lake flying down Duck Creek Road. There were two ducts under the gravel road on the way across the marsh. If you went fast enough, you felt you were air born for couple of seconds. “Faster, faster!” we’d shout at my mom or aunt, whomever was driving that day would put the pedal to the metal. Squished together in the back seat we were on a roller coaster! That ride to Tuttle Lake was more fun than the swimming that followed.