The Car

I had just wanted to have a break from it all. I had just wanted the heat from careless moving bodies to erase the pain in my head. It was all just supposed to be a way to relieve stress. To cast off worries and unfulfilled wishes onto someone else’s moving silhouette. To become free in the small space between twirling skirts and beer bottles. That was all. I wasn’t asking for my life to become perfect after that night, or for it to fall apart. I had just wanted one night to be.

I didn’t tell anyone my name. I was myself. I was nobody, someone who has come from nowhere and is going nowhere. The girl next to me wasn’t curious to find out who I was, and I didn’t even care what her first name was. We were just two people laughing and pretending that, for a little bit, life outside this small space didn’t exist. I left her without asking for her number. I had nothing to offer her in return. We were just dancing partners. That was all.

The night was suddenly over. I had started to walk home when I remembered the worries. How could I have forgotten those? They quickly returned, and I found myself wishing that the girl was still next to me. She would have been the perfect body to throw these away on. But I didn’t know her name. She didn’t know mine. We were stuck in this small space of namelessness forever.

The car hit. I forgot why I came here. I forgot what I had been looking for. What were worries and unfulfilled wishes to me? I watched her spend hours over nothing and nobody. I watched her spend energy and emotion over no one. Didn’t she know? I had left my name behind long before meeting her, and it didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t understand. She would later return to the small space between skirts and beer bottles, and try to forget her own name.