The Dust is Settling on the Road behind Me.

You saved for a base guitar.

The music pours out of the sides of my jeep, like the Flowers dropped by a four year old, walking down the aisle of a small country church. I am driving home from an accident that could have taken my life.

With your pen and notebook, you blow me away.

My Jeep trembles beneath my fingers, steering wheel almost 120 degrees from it's natural orientation. It lurches and overstresses when I hit 45 miles per hour. I feel like a man attempting to coax a dog out from under a porch after he has kicked it in a moment of frustration and anger. I can almost feel the vehicle shudder to my touch, and almost hear it whimper against my requests. But I know I can never be frustrated with this one, after all, he saved my life.

It's the smallest words we cannot say.

I remember. I am coming around the curve. I can see it in my minds eye. The road peeling away from underneath me, smooth and dusty, as I try and make good time, on to my next errand, my next objective, my next moment in life that is delayed by my distance from it. I can see the red gravel nestled in the red dust, and the curve tightening more than I expect, I can feel the slide and hear the rumble as the wheels search for traction underneath me, scrambling for purchase on suddenly treacherous ground. I can feel myself thinking "I'm losing control. But if I slam on the breaks, I'll roll. Just keep everything even and hope for the best. I've felt a slide before, it'll be ok."

Your favorite colour, is that of red wine.

The slide continues, but fiercer now than I've experienced it before. and then there is a loud noise, and more dust than I remember. I am still sitting in the Jeep. But "Up" is no longer up. Down is Left. This feels more like a dream than a moment in time. I half-expect myself to gasp awake, in bed. No gasp. No cold darkness of my room welcomes me. I look around. Maybe 12 seconds has passed since my vehicle carefully slide itself off the road and into a clear space between trees. I undo my seatbelt, and clamber out of the Jeep--through the back. It is very dusty. I am standing in the street. My Jeep is on it's side, sleeping, it appears almost unscathed. My belongings are scattered on the ground around the vehicle.

Which brings me 'round, to your favorite past-time.

I am still wearing my sunglasses. I take them off. Slide them into a pocket. I begin walking the road to the nearest house, hoping to find a phone.

Are the stars out tonight?

The memory fades away like a mist and I am back in my wounded Jeep, driving home, the day after the accident. It isn't as unscathed as it at-first appeared. I feel the guilt of knowing that it took quite a bruising to allow me to walk away from an accident that wasn't its fault. I know that it's just a machine, but I am still responsible for its safety, and as the steering lurches under my touch I'm reminded against that this is one more being in my life that I let get hurt on my watch.

Are you watching, wrapped up cozy and tight?

The music dies away. My jeep rumbles slowly, limping towards home, and rest, and hopefully, repair. Do I also need these things? Am I devoid of Home? Of Rest? Of Repair? I am my own driver. Did I let myself down as well?

We're not the same.