Keren Douek

CRASH

Keren Douek

As the tires screech, and I feel the car skidding off, I should be struck with the amazing loss of control throwing me against the door, seat belt tearing at my skin, my head bounced loosely to the side.

It's only noteworthy that at a time like this I have the clarity of thought to consider that I should fear this- because I don't.

She once told me that I was 'mathematical'.

I didn't ask her to explain, and she didn't.

Instead we talk about how we both like chunky applesauce. She stocks up on it when it's on sale. Like a food and a drink, it fills you up, but you're not thirsty afterward. She once downed a liter of applesauce 'cause she was dared to. Chugged it.

She asks me about Robyn.

She hates when I say Robyn was funnier than her, so I say it. “Robyn had 'it'”. I cant' see her grimace through the phone. But Robyn wasn't pretty. Robyn was a charity. I prided myself on having an unattractive girlfriend. It was like purifying the soul. Like walking on coals.

Mathematical.

She says she always wanted a Red Jeep Wrangler, exactly like mine, until she rode in mine.

Something slams against the other window and I realize it's the ground, but then it's gone again—and just space

I wasn't kicked out of school. I got them to kick me out. I essentially kicked myself out. She laughs, but only because she understands this. Why didn't you just leave? That's a dumb question. Because she understands this.

Instead I kiss her face.

Against the ground again, crunching like its nothing falling hard

I kiss her face.

She says I act dumb. I say maybe I am dumb. She says I act dumb so people won't know. She says I act dumb 'cause if people don't like the fake me they don't have a chance to not like the real me.

Glass shattering. On me. Around me. Me.

I kiss her hard. I hold her tight. Tighter still than she can stand. She tries to hold it in—I know her. She laughs but I can feel she's gonna break. She laughs 'cause she knows how bad she doesn't want to break. Here, not in front of me. Her hand against my shoulder she pretends to draw me in still but I feel her ready nails

Until it lands. Still. Broken on the ground. I look up but nothing's right—all broken upside down—
and this is right

So fast—just like they say—it's hard to know what happened first
The tires swerved
I grabbed the wheel

She pushes me away

Raised with five brothers and one sister, Keren Douek learned that there is always something going on worth writing about. Keren moved from New York City to St. Louis to live with her husband, Gabe, and devote her life to writing. Her website is WritingbyKeren.com.