When you were five and the best best thing is a plastic go-kart vroom -vroom that your father bought you because it was his turn to have you for Christmas that year, and Tommy from down the block tells you to get out this car is for boys and you don’t know yet that this this isn’t a thing, but you give it to him anyway because the go-kart isn’t something you care about, not really, and it reminds you of your father, and anyway fathers leave.
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When you were 16 and your boyfriend’s car is where you hang out and smoke and your boyfriend tells you that if you really really loved him, you’d climb in the back seat and let him unhook your bra, and you don’t know yet that this isn’t a thing and anyway your boyfriend will probably say the same thing to Jenny Goldsmith next week, but you go along with it because why not, and anyway boys leave.
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When you were 40 and your son is basketball and prom and can he please please borrow the good car. the one your husband left behind, because your son is going to prom with Julie Williams and he will look like a total creep if he shows up with his own rusty clunker and all the other parents are lending their kids the good cars and you do know that this isn’t a thing but you’re single-mom guilty and fatherless-guilty and boyfriend-less guilty, and so you let him even though you do not know, you cannot know how slick a late night road can get, so slick it can’t grip the tires, not even on the good car, and you will tell yourself for the rest of your life that anyway children leave
Francine Witte is a flash fiction writer and poet, and the author of the flash collection RADIO WATER. Her newest poetry book, Some Distant Pin of Light, was published by Cervena Barva Press. Her story “Plate Spinner” won a Pushcart Prize. She lives in New York City. Please visit her website francinewitte.com. She can be found on social media @francinewitte.