Were You Thinking of Me?
Sophie Wojciechowski
You were laying down in the middle of the field at night, watching the stars crawl across the sky when it happened. You didn’t know until much later, but that’s where you were. You were at peace – not happy, but at peace.
The moon was full when it happened, and it’s bright reflection lessened the stars’ shine and twinkle. But you knew how bright they were, you knew how they twinkled on an empty night when the moon was new and the sky was dark.
The wind was a breeze that night, and you shivered at it’s light touch, thinking maybe you should go inside and finally surrender to the fatigue that forced your eyes to droop and your senses to shut off. But you stayed where you were, surrounded by grass and dew, and a soft breeze and a night sky, and a bright moon and dull stars.
I was driving across the city that night, listening to the playlist you made for me. The words were making their home inside my head, the notes were beating through my chest. You always knew the right songs to make my brain stop working.
I was on my way to that café you liked that night, last time you were here you bought a drink you said made you stop thinking. I wanted to try it, and write to you and tell you I did. I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you, when it was dark outside and the moon glowed and the stars twinkled.
Were you thinking about me, too?
If it’s any consolation, it was quick, when it happened. All I saw was the headlights, all I heard was metal hitting metal, all I tasted was blood, all I smelled was smoke, but I felt nothing. I think it happened too fast.
You would’ve seen the other car. You were always a better driver than me. You didn’t lose yourself in the music. You were more aware than me.
It was over before I knew what was happening. You wouldn’t know what happened until the next night, when my mom finally got pulled back to reality and remembered you would want, you would need, to know. To hear what had happened to me, what I had done to myself.
I can’t bring myself to be mad at the other driver, even if they are the reason I am here now, thinking without being, knowing without seeing, feeling without touching. I can only be mad at myself.
Mad that I would never be able to try that drink you loved, read that book that made you feel alive again, hear that last song on the playlist you made for me, see your smile again, hear you tell me you love me, feel you hold my hand as we walked along the street. I regret nothing but not having more time with you.
It’s not for another hour of laying in that field watching the moon and stars crawl across the sky that you finally go inside. You finally surrender to the fortress of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from your childhood. Your cat jumps up and lays in the crook of your knees. In the morning, he’ll have moved to lay next to your head on your pillow. He knows you love to wake up and see him dozing next to you. He knows a lot more than you know.
He’s there when you wake up. You scratch the spot behind his ears you know he loves. You eat together, scrolling through the morning news. You read about a car crash in the city. The identity of the victim is being withheld at the request of the family. What a shame, you think. You always hated hearing about the loss of life. Life was so precious to you.
You move through your day, wondering why I haven’t texted you yet- why I haven’t called. I want to. I want to hear from you again. I’m sorry I won’t be able to. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you that I’m sorry.
You’re doing dishes when she calls you. You had your favorite food for dinner, you wanted comfort. You won’t be able to taste it again without it turning to sand and lead in your mouth. The water turned cold before you remembered to turn it off, the soap nearly flowing onto the floor. The song playing was the song I never got to listen to. Did you know? You never listened to it again. It was beautiful.
You went to my mom’s house the next day. You didn’t cry until she opened the door. You always said how much I looked like her. You both sat on the couch, looked through old photo albums, and laughed through your tears. You watched me grow up again, and when the photo album closed, your heart shattered again.
You were laying in the field when I was gone for good. The sun was high in the sky and shining brighter than the moon or the stars. There was no breeze, there were no clouds. You were surrounded by grass and dew, and the song of birds and crickets. You were at peace – not happy, but at peace.
You were thinking of me then. If only I could tell you I was thinking of you, too.
The moon was full when it happened, and it’s bright reflection lessened the stars’ shine and twinkle. But you knew how bright they were, you knew how they twinkled on an empty night when the moon was new and the sky was dark.
The wind was a breeze that night, and you shivered at it’s light touch, thinking maybe you should go inside and finally surrender to the fatigue that forced your eyes to droop and your senses to shut off. But you stayed where you were, surrounded by grass and dew, and a soft breeze and a night sky, and a bright moon and dull stars.
I was driving across the city that night, listening to the playlist you made for me. The words were making their home inside my head, the notes were beating through my chest. You always knew the right songs to make my brain stop working.
I was on my way to that café you liked that night, last time you were here you bought a drink you said made you stop thinking. I wanted to try it, and write to you and tell you I did. I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you, when it was dark outside and the moon glowed and the stars twinkled.
Were you thinking about me, too?
If it’s any consolation, it was quick, when it happened. All I saw was the headlights, all I heard was metal hitting metal, all I tasted was blood, all I smelled was smoke, but I felt nothing. I think it happened too fast.
You would’ve seen the other car. You were always a better driver than me. You didn’t lose yourself in the music. You were more aware than me.
It was over before I knew what was happening. You wouldn’t know what happened until the next night, when my mom finally got pulled back to reality and remembered you would want, you would need, to know. To hear what had happened to me, what I had done to myself.
I can’t bring myself to be mad at the other driver, even if they are the reason I am here now, thinking without being, knowing without seeing, feeling without touching. I can only be mad at myself.
Mad that I would never be able to try that drink you loved, read that book that made you feel alive again, hear that last song on the playlist you made for me, see your smile again, hear you tell me you love me, feel you hold my hand as we walked along the street. I regret nothing but not having more time with you.
It’s not for another hour of laying in that field watching the moon and stars crawl across the sky that you finally go inside. You finally surrender to the fortress of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from your childhood. Your cat jumps up and lays in the crook of your knees. In the morning, he’ll have moved to lay next to your head on your pillow. He knows you love to wake up and see him dozing next to you. He knows a lot more than you know.
He’s there when you wake up. You scratch the spot behind his ears you know he loves. You eat together, scrolling through the morning news. You read about a car crash in the city. The identity of the victim is being withheld at the request of the family. What a shame, you think. You always hated hearing about the loss of life. Life was so precious to you.
You move through your day, wondering why I haven’t texted you yet- why I haven’t called. I want to. I want to hear from you again. I’m sorry I won’t be able to. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you that I’m sorry.
You’re doing dishes when she calls you. You had your favorite food for dinner, you wanted comfort. You won’t be able to taste it again without it turning to sand and lead in your mouth. The water turned cold before you remembered to turn it off, the soap nearly flowing onto the floor. The song playing was the song I never got to listen to. Did you know? You never listened to it again. It was beautiful.
You went to my mom’s house the next day. You didn’t cry until she opened the door. You always said how much I looked like her. You both sat on the couch, looked through old photo albums, and laughed through your tears. You watched me grow up again, and when the photo album closed, your heart shattered again.
You were laying in the field when I was gone for good. The sun was high in the sky and shining brighter than the moon or the stars. There was no breeze, there were no clouds. You were surrounded by grass and dew, and the song of birds and crickets. You were at peace – not happy, but at peace.
You were thinking of me then. If only I could tell you I was thinking of you, too.