You got in a car accident, once, did you not?

I remember, because I was sitting at the bar (& wasn’t I always?) in my kitchen drinking a soda when the telephone rang as the lightning shook the house from outside, sheer poetry in motion.

Schweppes danced at my feet; a ballerina in desperate motion, his tail a flag.

I answered, and my breath froze in my lungs.

(& wouldn’t yours if your butterfly lost a wing?)

The car would not start, no matter how many times I inserted the key or coaxed it. Eventually, it was the six minutes spent rubbing the dash and murmuring soothing, loving words that eased my little car into Drive mode and allowed me to back out of the apartment complex.

You were on the side of the road on the frat party side of downtown.

(& why were you there in the first place, young lady!?)

The other car had swerved at the last second to avoid hydroplaning and slammed into you. It was not your fault,

(& what ever was, my innocent pure one?)

But still, you were upset and afraid.

And your voice on the phone echoed in my ears:

“Come save me, come help me, come fix it.”

As a toddler pleads to his or her mother when they scrape their knee playing soccer on the sidewalk at dusk with the neighborhood kids.

I got out of the car, Schweppes barking from the backseat

(& sometimes, the dog has to come).

You looked up from your position on the trunk of your car, where you had been sitting, Indian-style and as red as your car itself.

I held out my arms and you surged up, upsetting the can of soda you had sitting on the fender

(& I think it was a can of Schweppes, irony is so sweet it’s sick)

And you threw yourself into my arms, crying and choking at the same time.

“Marcy,”

Was all I had to say, and you were instantly quiet, something seizing you from the inside and urging you to stop being so open.

You bit back on the tears immediately, and paid the tow truck man.

(& he was as hairy as the dog, disturbing as that seems)

As you climbed into my passenger seat

And I shoved the dog back into the backseat and off of the console,

I noticed a single tear roll down your cheek

(& it was as delicate as your own fragile little life).

I said it again, in a soft, loving tone:

“Marcy.”

(& it was pleading, chiding, desperate and reverberating).

And you calmed down and were silent.

As we drove back, I noticed the soda can lying on the side of the road,

Catching light as a sun catcher might

In a child’s window.