An Ode to Her

I've been challenging myself to write a piece of flash fiction each day of February, led by Managing Editor Moriah Richard of Writer's Digest. Here is my piece for day 6:


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James Baldwin once said, "Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."


I will say, our beginning certainly took me by surprise, on a day I thought I was going on a Costco run to Kansas City with my ex. Unexpectedly, my car broke down less than 30 minutes into our drive, and everything changed.


The first time I saw her, I wasn’t sure what to think. But before long, I adjusted to the feeling of safety. Safety was a new feeling. And I felt safest when it was just the two of us. 


When it was finally time to leave the midwest, we drove across the country together, all the way to Portland, Oregon. We stopped whenever we wanted, taking in the views. One time I even forgot to refill the gas tank outside of Boise, so we had to make a quick exit and call AAA to come rescue us. I found myself on the side of the road once again, but this time she was there. This sweet waiting time, with nothing to do and nowhere else to be, ended up being one of my favorite memories on the entire trip. We stared at the sacred water, on the border of Idaho and Oregon, tucked away on a small river off the highway. No cars or buildings or people in sight. Again, I felt safe.


We went so many more places together, literally from coast to coast. I cried with her more times than I can count. She never judged me for my feelings, for my singing voice, or even when I screamed at the top of my lungs. She never seemed to mind when I verbally processed for hours at a time, when I needed to be silent, or when I ran lines and practiced monologues over and over again. She was always on board. Always there. Always listening. Until now. 


Blue Razz, you are the best car I have ever had. Not because you were fancy or flashy or even reliable. It’s because you gave me space to be myself. Without you, I don’t know how I could have escaped my marriage, or left Texas, or gotten sober. Without you, I don’t know how I could have learned how much I enjoy being with myself. I’ll miss you, and I will never forget you. Thank you for helping me survive nine years of battles, both internal and external. Thank you for keeping me safe. I grew up with you, and I stayed alive with you. 


With humans, love feels complicated. But with this “blue raspberry” Honda Fit, it’s simple. 


I’ll end with these words by Herman Hesse: “If I know what love is, it is because of you.”


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The prompt on this day was to write a eulogy for an idea or an inanimate object. Read more submissions in the comments here.

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