Before the laptop bag, the hour long drive home, the clothes of grey and black, and the face of an adult. Before all that she was in jeans and jacket mostly from anywhere… old navy, Meijer; clothes that lacked fashion and spirit. She stopped caring for style at the age of 12 when she lost her faith. Brown kid going to a predominately rich white school. Always felt out of place. Emotions unshared at home. Family struggles. Closed to her close ones. Distant to her friends. She never shared any of it.
Back to the days of grunge and Goth
Rock music and grey clouds over the Midwest.
Back to the days of loneliness and confusion.
She hated it.
Black was her least favorite color.
Late 90’s suffocation. How many times did she map her escape?
And tonight, she comes back to me through the wails of some gritty synthesizer.
I see her sitting by the passenger side seat of the car; her face so innocent, lost, and looking elsewhere.
And I desperately miss her and those days.