Riding in an El Camino
We were headed north. I pretended to fall asleep in his cherry red El Camino. The passenger side window was cracked, about half an inch. I let the wind kiss my face--
His hand never touched mine.
I couldn't say his name.
A scrimmage of cassette tapes and soda cans, a pair of cheap sunglasses so he doesn't notice me.
The weather inside is frightful.
He tickles the side of my hip as we get off the exit.
"How'd you sleep?" He asked.
A faint smile.
A faint 'fine.'
The store is next door to an ice cream shop--it's all I think about while browsing $40 t-shirts.
I wonder what he's looking at upstairs. He's going to leave me someday.
I found him downstairs in the home and bedding department. He was looking at plates and overpriced eccentricities. This was as far as he would let me into his life.
The sun was beginning to go down when we got back in the car. I put in the Purple Rain tape and turned up the volume. I smiled as I looked into the side view mirror. An hour and a half from home.
By the time we got back to his apartment, it was dark and drizzling. I was too shy to ask if I could spend the night.
Why doesn't he ask me?
He started walking towards his apartment. I stood in the rain and waited for him to turn back.
"I've always wanted to kiss in the rain," I said.
I let him kiss me. Then he said,