You Appeared in my Car like a Stowaway

You appeared in my car like a stowaway today. Reclining the passenger seat, soiling the leather.

I didn't realize you were there at first, beside me as I drove southbound on I-95. I suddenly felt your sarcasm burn my right cheek. Your abusive exploits pinching my arm.

You sat there, like undigested meat, a 3 foot clump of red clay, Mississippi mud. "This car won't hold both of us," I warned you. But you didn't listen, instead you became denser, substantial, and ponderous.

I rolled down your window, and you whined at me about the wind. I complained about your vulgar stench. "You can not exist without me."

The air in the car turned wicked. My spirits absorbed your sticky goo. I stopped breathing and curled inside myself, toxic, melting, miserable.

I reach out for you, "If I suffer from you, we suffer together." But you laughed and said "I'm only given you the rotten stuff, babe, I sent the good stuff to Switzerland for vacation."

My heart foiled in my chest, my breath constrained. "Ugh, you make me sick sometimes," you spit at me, "pathetic".

"Yes, pathetic," I think.

I reach out again, and feel your wet sloppy clay. I dig my fingers into you, feel your cold useless form. When I pull out my hand it is covered in your muck, lodged deeply under my fingernails. I reach again, into your soil, and grab a clump, holding it firmly in my hand.

"You know what? I want the window down." I say out loud, and before you can protest the window is down. The freezing wind rushes into the car, washing out your heavy stench. With the strength of Nolan Ryan, I squeeze your uselessness in my palm, and give a most impressive overhand delivery, right out of the passenger window, smacking into the back of a pick up truck. I watch your muck form into an image of you, with your face, and your arms, your torso leaning against the back of the cab, you smirk at me, as I drive past you and your new chauffeur who is oblivious to your presence. "There!" I exclaim, "You've always said you wanted to travel!"

And then I lean over and grab more of your gunk, now settled into my leather seat. I form a nice handful and toss it with an impressive curve, landing you on the Phillip Morris tower. You twirl into your man form, skidding to a seated halt, lay back against the tower, admire the stars.

I grab another handful of you, and pitch you out of my window, like a coin skipping across water, you hop, hop, hop, on your tush till you find a green place amongst the pine tree forrest. I see you rise up, taking your familiar shape, turn to smile at me, and then disappear in the woods.

I throw you into the James, where a boat magically forms beneath you on the river.

I hurl globs of you against the bridge and watch you grab on to the cement and climb up to the overpass.

I attach bits of you to an arrow and shoot you off into the distance where you find an outdoor cafe with a starbucks latte and wired laptop computer waiting to amuse you.

I open my door and shove the bulk of you onto a Wal-Mart parking lot, where you assemble into 50 identical men, all rising into form from chunks of clay. All 50 of you walk off in different directions like a starburst. Your mass exodus in all directions centering from my car must resemble an impressive firework display from Heaven's view.

You are gone. But left a fine dust behind. I sweep the dust bits into a zip lock bag, but they are resistant to containment and rise up into the air, disappearing into the sun. I can not take the chance that you will come back here. I am done with your evil intent. I grab a can of hairspray and spray the air. Your dust particles cling together, and fall heavily downward, where I catch them with the plastic bag.

I seal the bag and roll it into a ball. I secure the ball into the hug of a rubber band sling shot, with all my well intent and hopeful wishes, I pull the rubber band back using the strength deep inside my shoulder socket. "May you land where you will find peace and never again hurt another," I whisper curtly, snapping the sling shot into the air. Your bag flies into the sky, fierce, spinning into a fireball, your dust beams over the atlantic, twirls over europe, and slows, half way around the world, dropping as ash from the sky, somewhere over Asia. You appear out of the ground, kneeling in exhaustion, looking up from where you fell, and smile fondly. "What a quirky girl you are, my Tiffylou!"

Yes, fine, thank you very much, now if you would be so kind, please stay where I flung you, do not find your way back into my personal space.