The Shield

The fervent thoughts of an angry young man's recent memory of a young woman's scorn.

April 3, 2010

I swear, driving around with you can be a tremendous pain in the a*s. Seriously, it feels like we're a couple that just broke up, and we're having that really awkward drive back to whoever's home so the both of us can finally breathe. The tension in the air is freaking palpable. If I could, I'd bury my speedometer just to make the trip back that much quicker so I can stop staring at the back of your head. But the road just stretches on and on like a high school graduation.

You're staring out that side window like your life is depending on it. You're like one of those people who's terrified to fly, and you're holding the wing on the plane with telekinesis that comes from your eyes. Part of me is wondering if you'd even see it coming, if instead of stopping in your driveway, I just shoved your door open and made you do a tuck-and-roll. I really don't need to see your house for a while anyway, and I can do without the possibility of the awkward parting shot, sharp as a knife, meant for maximum damage, right before you slam my door. Don't slam my door. Is that REALLY necessary?

What's sad is there's nothing I can say or do at this point to break the tension. You've got that shield cranked up to the max. May as well be bulletproof glass in between the two of us. If you could, you'd engage a smoke screen so I couldn't see you. Considering how I may be feeling, maybe I'd welcome it. It'd be a hell of a lot better than that ice cold shoulder you brought with you. Even if I admitted I was wrong, said I was sorry, whatever, nothing would change it. That's the shield you've gotten so good at wielding. It's what you accuse us men of hiding behind all the time: Pride. You've certainly got the art down.

What's even funnier, so much it makes my sides hurt, is I don't recall us being in a relationship. I didn't break your heart, didn't treat you bad, didn't crush your dreams or shoot your cat. I didn't even get the "home game" consolation prize consisting of days and years of fond memories of what once was, to haunt me on nights when I'm alone. All I get is an overwhelming feeling that somewhere along the line, I overstayed my welcome and I can't spend anymore time around you. Every day, all I can ask is "What the hell did I do?". 

And that's a pain that stays with you a lot longer than those memories will. It can downright crush your spirit. At this point, I may as well have broken up with you. Maybe somewhere in there I'd get some satisfaction out of making you completely freaking miserable. But as far as I can see, I'm on the most hated list because... I'm here?

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

The road stretching on like a high-school graduation... great image. This is done so well. I feel like I was an invisible passenger in the car with you two. And now I wonder what you did to her, too :)

[NightShade]

This is amazing! I'm at a loss for words, which is rare. The sublimated anger, frustration and pain, crash against me like tsunami. This, is powerful stuff, man!

What can I say? I'm staggered, generally overwhelmed and a bit awestruck.

Wow! I'm gonna have to say that again, backwards: !woW