22 March 2010

The Instrument, Part 1

Here she is: 

That was a few weeks ago; there's a bit more dirt now. Attachment... is a dangerous thing, but it's good to remember that you end up taking care of things that are important. 

I hadn't taken a drive in a few weeks and when I went to dimsum this evening, I remembered how much I missed the feeling. These days I drive almost exclusively in sport mode since I do so little driving anyway, I might as well. 

It's important to become a part of your vehicle, to feel its beat, to notice and accept her seemingly minor rhythmical imperfections. Like a sprinter at the starting line, you wait silently, looking at the other lights. Sometimes the light turns green after a few seconds of a dedicated green left turn. Sometimes the gun goes off with the left turn. 

And once that sea of electrons marches across those diodes, you take your foot off the brake. And in that half a second where you're abducting your right leg, she takes a breath. She takes a breath and she knows. While every muscle in your body is tensing up, as you hold your breath and put your foot down, you and her become one, and the flushing is simultaneous - one with blood stained hydrocarbon, the other, with hydrocarbon stained blood. In that second of unity, your pupils dilate and your vision blurs and you take what seems to be an infinitely long blink  and you're still choking, holding in that breath. The needles rise, and with the days and weeks and months that you've been together, you know when her ECM is going to throttle back to take on a new level. And that's where you get your reprieve, for you're already at 40 and you still need to breathe. Once you do, you start to hear the growing sounds from the speakers: 

Do one thing for me tonight
I'm dying in this silence
The last star left in heaven
Is falling down to earth and
Do you still feel the same way
Do you still feel the same way

Meaningless, you think to yourself. There's not a song or post or saying or haiku or tanka in the world that could encompass what you just went through. Still, you appreciate their effort. Some would cringe at the next red light, but you don't. She needs it. Rather, you both need it. You feel a light smirk coming on. It won't be long now.

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