Her jeep is running in park on the side of a tiny back street in suburbia. It's one of those streets that only the people who live on it know it's name and everyone else who ends up their got lost in the maze of pale two story houses and green lawns. All the windows are up and the top is on. The music is so loud that the chair she sits in is vibrating to the melodic thump of the bass and the necklace that hangs from the rearview mirror is systematically swaying back and forth. The purring engine is keeping rhythm in time with her pain. Her forehead is lying heavy on the steering wheel and every tear she sets free slides down and glides around the sleek black leather circle; always disappearing before it reaches her jeans.
She lifts her head trying to catch a breath of something other than the air that she's been breathing, but she's choked by the possibilities of true love and lost time.
Black rear view mirror in wrecked car
My rear view mirror
Rearview Mirror: An American Musical JourneyShe takes the palm of her hand and smudges the tears with a tough swish, trying to make herself look strong through all that desperate sobbing. The sadness is stuck like a log in her throat and no matter how many times she tries to swallow it; it won't sink. She tilts the rearview mirror to take a good look at what he has made of her. All she sees in her reflection is a lovesick fool.