driving


ii.

he drove us to his best friend's birthday 

party at a middle eastern restaurant 
in san jose.  i can hardly remember what 
we were talking about, something about

the proper allegiance of ex-lovers, good friends.  
slowly, i felt his anger rising, pulled 
by the nearness of myself.  i am glib, rolling 

the language senselessly into a fast river 
like logs.  building, he begins to argue,
cutting off my words, and i am young enough 

to talk back, loud, as his eyes turn.  i feel 
uneasy, trapped in a car with a hunter.  somehow 
he is pounding on the the dash, and i am 

afraid he will forget about the blue-gray car 
to our left and in turning at the intersection,
kill us.  he is screaming obscenities now, and

thank god pulls over.  i am staring at him, 
i can hardly tell what he is saying.  just 
this face moving, contorting.  and at last 

i hear, "you should get out of the car 
before i hurt you."  to pull on the knob
and push open the door is easier than 

i'd imagined.  much more than in the movies.  
i walk down the block towards the restaurant. 
the car squeals around and follows me, stopping

at the curb.  i stare, but keep walking.  people 
are staring.  by the time i arrive in the restaurant, 
he has found parking.  he has no qualms about coming 

late and having nothing to eat, drinking 
several glasses of wine instead.  this is 
a gathering of friends, after all.  and i know

the pattern of events like a chess game.  he
will pout and cry, conning an ear from anyone
in the vicinity.  his best friend will lean

near like a conspirator and whisper, "i think
you should talk to him.  he seems to need you."
despite past scenes, i know i'll find myself 

driving shaky, swerving slightly on the freeway,
while he complains of nausea.  open the window 
i say.  he wants me to stay the night with him.  

the night.  until he feels better.  this is not 
the tar pits, i remind myself.  i know where
this beast is heading.  i will remain.  once

more, i am driving home.



--jennifer crystal chien