I broke down at the side of the road; the vehicle of my creativity had grown tired and weak. I blew out the left rear wheel of my mind. The wind pulled the door against my hand as I pushed it open and stepped out into the traffic.
The wind pulled at my hair, tugged free a pink ribbon and pulled rudely at my skirt. I slammed the door, I kicked the tire and I said an ugly word that was not like me. I reached up to try and pull my loose tresses from my face.
I felt you before I saw you. You drove by once and saw my legs. You looked right up to my thigh and would have kept going but my pink ribbon got caught up in your windshield wiper and it was starting to rain. I caught your eye.
You turned around and came to my aid; I don't think you meant too, I think it was an accident. An important accident.
"You have a flat." You told me, your voice was thick like the honey in my bitter tea. You sweetened it.
"I know, but I can fix it myself." I told you, because I could fix it, I did not need to be rescued. I did not know that I wanted to be.
You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest and smirked. "Okay then."
I wished I had not said that, I wished I had, right away and without hesitation, asked for your help. We stood there a moment before I moved, one hand holding down my skirt as I silently told you I was a prude. As I silently lied and let you think all the wrong things. You smirked, did you know better? even then?
I got wet in the rain but not you, you stood and watched and stayed clean and dry. I was ankle deep in mud; my red shoes disappeared from my small feet. Now and then I looked up at you and you smirked down at me. I smiled, flippantly.
My pink ribbon forgotten on your windshield.
All I had to do was ask and I think you would have helped me. All I had to do was say please and I think you would have gotten my shoes out of the mud. All I had to do was give you a smile that was not flippant. I know, I knew. The simplest things are always the hardest for me.
I can write you my soul but to give it to you? I falter. I make a joke.
I fixed my minds tire and I jumped my own battery. I was dirty for it, I was unclean. The rain was slowing, stopping and my hair dried in frizzy curls the way I hate and you still smirked.
"Are you finished?" You asked me. My heart skipped a beat. Was I finished? Would you get back in your car and drive away with my ribbon? Did you see the panic in my eyes? Did you hear the sharp way I breathed my next breath. Did you see my fingers tighten on each other the way they wanted to tighten on you? Under you.
Were you waiting for my flippant smile?
You never gave me back my pink ribbon, do you even know you still have it? When I smile that flippant smile, I am thinking of my pink ribbon.
"No, I am imperfect. I am beautiful. I am hopeless and helpless and too strong to say so. But I will never be finished." The pavement cracked under the quiet of what I said.
I think I saw you smile.
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