Radio Hell

Full Body Chills


Very transient life that I don't really. Around this time my mother took up smoking as her glow of innocent joy became increasingly dim. My father is missing more and more from the pictures presumably away working longer shifts. But then I remember how he died and I'm forced to wonder what a young man struggling marriage was doing strolling the city late at night. And I know it's probably an odd thing to say, but I'm surprised at how few pictures there are of me. If I'm in them at all clearly the focus of the picture. I'm hardly caught with my mother and at some point I stopped showing up in pictures altogether, I? mean any reference to my life past the age of seven is just missing. Nothing of my band concerts, school dances graduation. The. Rest of the photo book is filled with more pictures of my mother's forgotten. Youth. The lively seventeen year old girl with amber hair stood in sharp contrast to aged monotone woman of late marriage. You. Know I. Always assumed my mother's quiet distressed came at the death of my father. But now. I don't know as. As, the cloudy Haze of nostalgia is clearing. I see that she had been this way long before. When I back to that, I can't help but think of Moms, frequent accidents and her several bruises I mean the present lack of Dad's image around the house. And I start to debate the meaning of her cold morning following his death. Was It really shocked that I saw. Or was it actually relief? I mean, did she even really loved my dad in the end or did she hate him? Did she feel ruined by him the same way I felt ruined after my first boyfriend. Why she didn't talk to me about it. I guess I, know why? It's probably the same reason I never told her that my first boyfriend raped me. I was ashamed. Of course, she wouldn't tell me. She depressed if he she had to be. She was beautiful and vibrant and had her whole life ahead of her and the man stole it from me from from her. What was she feeling before she died? Was She in pain? Was that why she was on that road? Did those stories getting her head. Did she go there. I wonder if she just couldn't bear the pain anymore. Oh. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't do that to me. But. How. Do I know? How do I know if it was an accident or if it wasn't. There's really only one way. I can be sure. No more wondering or second guessing myself I drop what I'm doing and grabbed my keys. I'm only had a quarter tank of gas, but I won't stop can't stop. It's the only thing that matters now. I take a thirty minute drive southeast where the landscape bend higher and the turns wine closer. At last, I come to the exit and turn on tonight damned highway. The Sky is drowned of color as a heavy sweet starts to fall showering my windshield. As expected, the road is rough ridden with potholes layers of wet rocky. Might I clean close to the jagged walls of Mount Ada on the other side of flimsy guardrail is a deathly dropped into nothingness and the shadows of the growing storm only allow me to see so far before he hit a wall of black. The thin painted lines of the road are constantly disappearing and I'm filled with panic as I steer each turn. A few times a catch my car jolting odd direction set off by a pothole or patch of ice. I feel like I've been traveling this road forever when I realized I have yet to see another vehicle. And both relieved in anxious at this point also dangerously impatient to get my aunt serfs. So I slowed down to take a wide turn and come to a short stretch of road. I stopped now because they're fifty feet in front of me, and at the edge of my rights is the exposed railing. The exact spot where she? I wasn't going fast on the turn. She couldn't have gone fast on turn. I. Slowly, bring my car forward and examine the see. I can see the splintered guard rails, the fresh tire tracks leading into darkness and. The signs. There's a pair of bright yellow turn labels pitched. Hi. Everyone could see. Why why would she do it? Why would she do this to me? Because she hasn't loved me. I pound at the wheel I want to break it to break her and break myself. The tears. Start to come and I blast the radio. There's nothing but a sea of static I want to drown my thoughts in it. I want to be lost in the sound loss and far away from here. But my thoughts speak clearer clearer over the static clear enough where I realize. It's not my thoughts. The voice on the radio. Hey there it's me Lauren well,

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