Passenger
by Carolyn Kegel
The lanes were clogged with cars along the toll booth crossing the George Washington Bridge. I lay across the back set while Drew drove and you kept your head pivoting between the two of us. You flicked the flint of the lighter by his cigarette but he said he could do it. I asked if we could listen to the radio. It was warm and I wanted the windows down too, everyone was smoking. We'd made love the night before. I'd look at you with that bit of hair still stuck to my lips and the wind and the sun and the smoke in my eyes while I'd whisper the words on the radio, but Drew kept talking to you about something. I don't even remember what because I was still pressing my fingers along your skin when I looked at the glass of the window and stared at the distance already growing between you and me while Drew took me home across the muddy Hudson River.
Carolyn Kegel is reworking a very long and slow-paced novel. In her spare time she cooks dinner and does the laundry.