What should I have done? Plenty of things, if you look back at the child-like scribble that is my life.
Recently, I was driving home, thinking, "I should have just done it." Why didn't I?
I'm in my car, letting it warm up and searching for a good song, maybe even a new CD, because I'm old school like that. My friends are leaving one by one. It's been a good night of beers and ridiculousness, but it's time to head home for sleep.
I'm one of the last in the parking lot, my Bimmer squeaking from the pulley that needs replacing and surging slightly from who knows what. Just another thing to fix, all in good time. I'm about to shift into reverse, foot on the clutch, when I see a car pull up next to me. I know whose it is, even through the rain hitting the glass. I smile a little bit and roll down my window. He smiles at me and we start talking through the rainy gap between our cars.
"What's wrong with your car?"
"Oh, plenty. It still drives pretty well, though, so I'm not complaining. She's a good little car."
He chuckles at me, "It sounds like it needs a new pulley."
I laugh and we continue talking, about cars, about relationships, about, well, dumb things that we get ourselves into. About life. We both know it might be awhile before we get to hang out again. We've always gotten on really well. And gotten ourselves into a few dumb situations together. But our friendship has always been easy and free, no drama and no strings--we always knew we could have a good, sometimes reckless, time together. That's just how we're both made. Free and reckless, charging through life sideways and upside-down.
"Well, I should probably go. I have to be up for work in a few hours."
"Yeah, I should go home. I have to work tomorrow, too." We roll up our windows, I turn up my music enough to cause deafness, and as I am pulling into reverse, I almost run him over. He's gotten out of his truck and is standing next to my window. I roll it down, laughing and telling him he shouldn't do shit like that, I might kill him. He does his chuckle, and leans through the window to hug me. As he backs out, he leans in and pecks me quick and soft on the lips, which makes me involuntarily smile. Brings me back to daisies in my hair, Santana records and a bottle of some of my favorite beer waiting for me in the front seat. Then he hops back to his car, saying that he really should go, since he's already in trouble and doesn't want to get his ass handed to him.
Which, if anyone else had seen what was actually going on, would know that he deserved.
I smile to myself, thinking that I shouldn't be smiling, and pull out of the parking lot. Driving through town, all of the synapses in my brain are firing at me, screaming that I should have gotten out of the car. Should have grabbed him. I of course know that I made the right decision to leave the parking lot, but I still have a stupid little smirk on my face.
And even now, even still, I feel like it's still what I should have done. Why? I don't know. Why didn't I? Because nothing good comes from being a hand in the destruction of a settled life.
