Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Crotchfire: True Stories Of The Redhead, Tragic Memoir Two

That pretty white BMW nestled itself so perfectly in my driveway. You knew I had a soft spot for that car, it was special for many reasons. That hot summer day outside the office, in the back seat, that was explosive, soaking wet love we made. It was only the second time we had been in each others presence, and we weren't the least bit ashamed. I used to love when you would take off those wedges so you could change gears smoothly. I remember how you left it parked sideways in the driveway the day I met him. It was parked sideways because I hastened your exit from the car with the placement of my hand. He shook that same hand with apprehension the very next day. The day you informed me you chose to marry him the BMW was absent. At the end of the pier sat a Ferrari and a Prius belonging to your father. The Bavarian car was at my shop having a VANOS solenoid replaced. A few days later I was drying the feather-white paint after I had washed it. You stood over me as I dried the wheels. Not a word was spoken but we both knew what had occurred. Continuing to try was futile. I was better off keeping my quiet position in your life. I knew life was better whilst making love to you than not having you at all. It hurt to know love took a backseat to social standing. On your wedding day I saw it sitting alone outside your house. The white BMW 550i M-Sport.

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