By Kristin Tenor
Remember that afternoon you asked me to be your accomplice, your getaway driver, your ticket to freedom? Side by side in the front of your rusted Chevrolet—I, at the wheel and you, your parchment-thin eyelids closed in a state of ecstasy as the breeze caressed the downy fuzz upon your naked scalp. The musk of wet hayfields and decay permeated the space between us as we raced against time and the silver train bearing down the tracks. You wanted to see a man about a lawnmower, although we both knew what needed to be fixed was far beyond repair.
Kristin Tenor believes life is about searching for the extraordinary within the ordinary. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in The Midwest Review, Spry Literary Journal, and The Peninsula Pulse. This is her first published creative non-fiction work. She lives in Northeastern Wisconsin with her husband. Learn more at www.kristintenor.com.
Photo by Jonathan Petersson via Pexels
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