The Field

We used to go to an abandoned field on the other side of town, right in front of an old strip mall that hadn’t been occupied in years. He’d drive around the edges of it, windows down, the wind blowing our hair in our faces. It used to drive me crazy, the whole going in circles thing, but he loved it , said there was something comforting about driving while the view was exactly the same for hours. Like it let him go on autopilot easier, made it easier for him to think and talk without having to worry about where he was going.

And so we talked. Nonstop, and about everything. About his family. About that one awful year that pulled them all apart, and they never quite recovered from. We talked about my family too, though my stories weren’t quite as heavy. And we talked about the future. About what we’d do if we could leave right now, and never come back unless we wanted to.

We drove around that field so much that sometimes I would see it in my dreams.

The faded dirt beneath and the smell of his car’s soft leather everywhere. The sound of his voice, the feeling of his hand wrapped around mine. I close my eyes sometimes and I can still see it, even though I haven’t been there in years. I can still feel the way that ugly, abandoned place felt like home. In a way nothing else ever has.

Maybe that’s why my heart stops heavy in my chest when I come across an empty field like that one, bare of trees and grass and wildflowers.

I swear, I can feel him next to me in places like that. I swear I can touch him... can almost believe he never found a way out of here without me.

#creativewriting