Truly Bad Writing

I am grateful to have finally allowed myself permission to start the flow again. It is strange where I ended up with this piece…the first thing that came to my mind was “cars,” so I thought, great - I know absolutely nothing about cars, so this truly will be awful. I had no idea I had so much story and sentiment lurking around the idea of cars.

I have a new red car,
replacing the old nuclear blue minivan that ran for 11 years;
that I rode out as a child and drove home as a woman
with my new son in the backseat.

She drove me to my first gymnastics practice, and my last.
My first love, my first kiss,
my first lying on the bed alone with a boy, unsure of what to do.
We parked one time and moved into the backseat, clothes about to come off,
when a cop shone a light in the window and banged on the door
because we parked in a curve next to a snowbank
(I'm not a bad kid, but that was the closest I ever came).
She drove me to my next love
which quickly fizzled,
and the next one that stuck,
and each potential love that I gave up in between.
She took me along roads I didn't know
through the sweet-smelling blanket of snow
with the windows down, smoking a cigarette
(I didn't really smoke, but it was fun every now and again)
and being lost and alone made me feel so real.
She heard me laugh, she heard me scream, she let me
pound on her steering wheel in rage.
She worked miracles for me,
magically spinning her wheel on sheets of ice
at the last possible moment to save me;
growling her powerful engine to shoot me out of harm's way.
She sent me to the Dominican Republic for the greatest and most
meaningful time of my life,
because a girl slid on ice and hit her in the side and insurance paid $2500,
but it was all cosmetic damage so I left it and used the money to find myself.
She drove me up I-71, smug and delirious with joy
because I knew I was not alone in my body and it was still a secret
I didn't have to share with anyone.
She drove me to McDonald's while I was in labor, for my last meal
as a woman not yet a mother,
and she drove me home from the hospital
for my first ride separate from part of my body and heart.

I wasn't there when she had to go, but I wish I could have
said goodbye,
taken one last ride with the best friend
I've ever had.

Re: Truly Bad Writing

This was a fun ride,literally.  I appreciate the journey the i character went on bot in her life with the car and in reflection, both gentle, open spaces of life and love.  I stumbled on the parenthesis adding another voice, not the voice that was so smooth, but the voice of an editor, not the writers editor but the editor of the i character herself- her thoughts, her feelings, her freedom.  Everythign else had s such anice flow and rhythm. This especially pulled me close to her:

“She drove me to McDonald's while I was in labor, for my last meal
as a woman not yet a mother,”

It is amazing how so much can be contained in such a short little phrase or two, so much force, feeling, memory and life, again literally.

Thank you for sharing this with us!

Peace
michael

Re: Truly Bad Writing

I am in awe of how wonderfully well the people on this group write. This piece moved me caught me up in it and left me in tears of beautiful emtion.
I'm sorry Deleen you have failed at truly bad writing. This is truly awesome writing. You've just written almost a life with all the nuances behind the words all in one small piece. I like the way it flows. Cant choose any part above any other. I suppose this encapsulates it.
that I rode out as a child and drove home as a woman 
with everything in between being great

Re: Truly Bad Writing

Thanks for your comments. I think this is the first real piece I've written in well over a year, and I had to make myself not be afraid of writing something terrible to even start writing at all. I do like this piece and I think I want to revise it and finish it. It does feel good to write again.

Re: Truly Bad Writing

When you revise and finish it can we see it here?