and then she was gone

she sits, cigarette hanging from her lips, in an old, red explorer (but what, really, is she exploring?). brunette strands brush the left side of her face; shes a mess, but thats okay. clouds fly furiously from her open window, zipping to and fro before fading away. frantic. gone.

the car.

old, worn, scratches and bumps only adding to the detail of its unheard story. its, “once, i ran over that curb,” its, “i saved her, because i love her, and they couldnt quite get my ribs back the same way,” its, “ive watched him grow up and i miss his carseat in the back, but now we fly, and as he smiles through his windblown hair, the miles become worth it. one more mile, every time.” the car coughs, perhaps from years of second-hand smoking; stage four lung cancer, and theres no going back now. its insides are yellowed and its car-smell is now a smoke-smell that no amount of air fresheners could truly “freshen-up.” and so, the car breaths its rasped breaths, its engine growling - only in frustration - for age is unescapable and everything ultimately comes to an end.

the light turns green, my eyes dart back to the road, 10 and 2. but out of the corner of my eye, i see the dancing smoke, and i swear the mighty explorers taillights crinkle slightly. eyes, smiling. a few brunette wisps wave.

and then she was gone.