Thursday, February 16, 2012

Carmex in the Silverado

The smell of Carmex on a chill day in a car slices away the years.  Once again it's night, there's a meteor shower, I'm in the middle and she's gone.  It's all gone.  Nothing matters and nothing is real. I smell the cool air, I smell the Carmex, I can almost hear the radio. 
I feel the time roll back like a tide.  It reveals hidden things, forgotten things, things just under the surface, or lost in buried layers like sand.  Things just waiting to be washed ashore and brought to life again. 
My life was behind me and before me at the same time.  The road like a tether connecting my past and my future.  All I had left was in my heart, mind and the bed of a Silverado.  But nothing was real and nothing mattered. 
The numbness and the hollowness were pervading.  I was a walking shell and a shadow of myself.  I was me less than a week before, then I was nothing and no one. When I smelled the Carmex, I realized I was new.  I had never heard of Carmex before.  It was the first new thing in my new life. 
I walk the beach of memories just to see what the tide brings in.  I find ugly things, regrettable things, things I want to throw back and beautiful things.
I was reborn in a truck on a cold December night, during a meteor shower, to the sound of country music and the smell of Carmex.

3 comments:

Eve said...

I love this Vicki! You're a good writer! Hope you're well these days.

Anonymous said...

Was this the trip to Chicago after granny died?

Anonymous said...

Carmex and bits of tobacco in it remind of you.