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Eighteen

Beads of perspiration sweated out of the air we shared inside your Chevrolet.
I loved that car.
A Chevelle. Fast.
Super-fast.
Whenever we were together in it you'd drive like you were headed to put out a house fire.
What a thrill.
Pure adrenaline. I just knew that you were going to kill us both someday. But, on that particular July afternoon you slowed down because it was raining...
not the kind of drizzle that teases the plants to
stick out their tongues because they are too afraid to die.
No, this was a bona fide downpour...
the kind of rain that floats trees and turns roads into rivers, and causes the sewers to back up.
And I knew,
I just knew,
that I was gonna need to start a diary to
mark it all down with,
the same way that parents chart their children's growth each year on the inside of the door jam.
When water began pouring in over the floorboards you pulled off onto a gravel road a mile from the highway.
It was in that moment I lost all of my highly trained
self-control.
I was going to give in.
I was going to stop listening,
listening,
to the voice inside my head telling me it was wrong,
listening to my parents, listening to God,
and only thinking about the sound of the rain beating as loud as my hammering heart was on the car's metal rooftop overhead.
Pounding,
drowning out every single thought
and knowing that I couldn't keep my hands to myself,
couldn't keep my fingers out of your hair,
couldn't,
didn't
want to spoil the moment with words because the silence between us was far more potent...
and when your lips took mine they felt like they were
one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.
They were sweet claret wine, and I was intoxicated,
so drunk in love, and my head spun,
my knees wobbled like I'd just gotten off a carnival ride and later,
much later,
when our breathing slowed to keep time with the rain that had become bored with us, I remember digging my nails
into your blue jeans and begging silently
to stay forever young.

poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
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