The Words, 

Pulled off the shelf and thrown, with no warning at all.

In the car,

Nothing but silence between us, desperately searching for a knife to cut it. 

Staring in disbelief, not daring to glance his way. 

 

​

Eyes fixating on the poorly painted line in front. 

The music in my ears, fading to a close. 

The gravel hitting the car, attempting to break the stillness. 

 

​

My bleak attempt to speak, muffled by a broken voice. 

 

​

A single hand motion, 

Whisking away a lonely drop off his cheek.

A cleared throat, 

The strain between us, growing by the second.

 

​

Trying to make sense of the Words, spoken mere moments ago. 

Said out of 

desperation, reparation, or possibly

Humble honesty? 

 

​

I glance over and see nothing

Other than glistening eyes fixated on the road.

Side-by-side but worlds away. 

A stiff frame, still like a structure on the side of a building.

 

​

If his eyes shifted away, 

Both our stories would end in an instant. 

I can tell he saw my head move 

But didn’t challenge the tension by looking my way. 

 

​

The Words spoken in a guilty manner, 

Hearing the sorrow in his voice. 

It was easy to tell he wanted to say those for a while, 

but couldn’t seem to dust them off for use.

The Words went deeper than their initial meaning. 

 

​

Getting closer, without moving an inch. 

Knowing he would be there, no matter what. 

The past is nothing but the past. 

 

​

His misery, still wafting around my brain, 

as if it was waiting for more thought to be given to it.

I try to speak but nothing comes out other than a forced breath.

Him waiting for forgiveness, 

not knowing it wouldn’t come, not yet at least. 

 

​

Anger starts to brew in my head, throwing all reason out the window. 

Why now? 

 

​

What have I done differently to warrant the Words given to me? 

Biting my cheek to pass the time, I see familiar landmarks. 

The gas station that provides too much coffee.

Just past the hood, the unavoidable pothole that makes a perfect metaphor. 

A small speck of blood landing on my tongue.

 

​

As we pass the road I traveled every weekday, I gain some perspective. 

It doesn’t matter now. 

It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do.

He didn’t care. 

It was the beauty in the ordinary. 

Reminding me, extraordinary circumstances are not required. 

I didn’t have to earn anything with him. 

Miles went by in a second. 

 

A single tear escapes my eye when he says the Words again.

“Brady, I’m proud of you.”