Rear Mirror

By Samyukta Raghavan

We sit in the car and we'll talk about nothing. I am here, half-separated, trying to find a song I think you'd like, as your left thumb drums the steering wheel. I can't tell if it's your latent anxiety or if it's some sort of exalted enjoyment. For a moment I feel triumph; but I can't smile. Not here, not now. I can't sit in this car next to you and run the victory mile, I'll just let you drive me. I have lost the privilege of your belief, and if I grin too wide you will know I am lying through my teeth. So I keep my mouth shut and talk about how much I love tunnels. And this song. And the sky sometimes. You listen, I think. You always listen, I think.

We sit in the car and I want you to say something and all you can manage is, "you need to start getting more serious about your future". I tell you it's all I think about, and you tell me that you wouldn't know because I don't tell you enough. I wince and tighten my seatbelt. That's what's difficult about growing up — I don't know how to talk to you anymore and I know you notice it. You're not blind, and I'm not subtle.

We sit in the car and I want to tell you about how I've spent my whole life reducing myself so I would fit into some narrative that I think you would enjoy, that you would drum your fingers to on the steering wheel. I'm in the passenger seat and you tell me I should get my driving license soon. you wince as you say it. I don't know how to be free, and you hate that I don't need you anymore. So, I kill you in my dreams accidentally and you don't question it. I am a stupid surgeon with shaking fingers. I shouldn't be allowed to hold a scalpel, I shouldn't be allowed to do anything. But, I want to be steady. I need to be steady. I need to feel the steel in my hands and know I will not bleed. I barely believe in myself, how terrible of me to expect that you can.

We sit in the car and I want to tell you I know you didn't kick the cigarettes. We sit in the car and I am aware I smell of nicotine. I burn my hair accidentally everytime I smoke and I think to myself each time that it's some sort of depraved sign. I don't acquiesce, I just light up another one. I try to put out all the small fires I set in the living room, but the TV is on. So, I'll just turn up the volume and we'll watch this movie until one of us falls asleep. We'll laugh about it in the morning, but we'll never finish watching it because I never come home and I can tell you're getting lonely. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed, like I'm wearing an albatross around my throat and I can't even get it to sing. I'm a sorry excuse for a daughter; home is one cab ride away and I can't even bring myself to book one.

We sit in the car, and you don't know any of these songs but I am playing them so you know this is what I listen to now. I harmonise horribly with Daniel Caesar. This is who I am now. I want you to see me. We sit in the car and I want to tell you I love you, but we're almost home. I'll just play you another song and hope you love that instead.

By Samyukta Raghavan